A Gulf of Civil Horror
by zapdosmaster145
Summary: Sequel to Under Absolute Despotism. In 2049, Perry's cloned son PJ is trying to make a new life for himself with his new family, the Flynns. While Isabella is President of the United States, protecting his family means protecting his country—especially with Suzy Johnson still on the loose. Can he prevent a horrifying alternate timeline from becoming a reality?
1. Prologue

Prologue

Newburgh, about 60 miles north of New York City  
Saturday, March 8, 1783

Colonel Timothy Pickering was no longer a busy man now that the war was over. Not many of the officers or soldiers were. Another harsh New England winter had reduced the army to spending their time building huts and cabins throughout the encampment when they weren't huddled around a fire or conducting their daily training drills. As Quartermaster General, it was Pickering's job to oversee the training and quartering of the troops, though by now his training regimen had fallen into more of a routine to keep order and remind the men they were still an army than in being an exercise to prepare them for any more actual combat. And while it had been another cold winter, it was not nearly as devastating as in years past; the French had provided generous funds and other provisions so Congress could at least afford to feed and clothe the men. The camp was better suited and had built most of the structures they needed last summer, leaving Pickering, like all the rest of the soldiers, with nothing to do but wait.

It had been months since the fighting had all but ended. The final battle against the British occurred in October 1781, when General Cornwallis was forced to surrender at Yorktown. Peace negotiations with Britain were ongoing half a world away, though hearsay was that a treaty was nearing completion. Potentially King George could have in fact already signed it by now, but it took weeks for news to travel across the Atlantic. Word of peace could arrive tomorrow, or in a year. And despite the fact that there had been one or two minor skirmishes here and there, for all intents and purposes the war was over. Congress knew it, the men knew it, the country knew it. Pickering prayed to God that official word would arrive before planting season, in time for the men to go home to their farms. They could not disband the army until the treaty was signed and the last of the redcoats were on ships sailing for England. That was what they were waiting for.

It was all Pickering could do to keep himself and the men busy, or at least occupied, for as the saying goes, idle hands are the devil's workshop.

Training drills had become perfunctory. Rebuilding and maintaining the troops' quarters had become more of a chore than a necessity. And the first signs of spring had made their mark on the landscape, warming the air and melting the snow. The men were growing tired and impatient. Brought on by boredom, and the desire to be reunited with their families and move on with their lives, a shadow of rebellion was forming over the camp. There was something else, too.

A _BANG!_ from outside his cabin interrupted Pickering from his thoughts. Immediately recognizing the sound of a pistol firing, he set his quill back in its ink bottle, put aside the letter he had been writing, and stood to go find the source of the noise.

A hundred yards away, Pickering saw a group gathered together, looking on at something in their midst. He hurried closer. "What happened?" asked a soldier when he hit the wall of onlookers, but Pickering ignored the man and shouldered his way through the crowd.

Suddenly the throng around him began to part. Pickering looked up and saw a head and pair of shoulders floating over the men, coming his way. He recognized them as belonging to their beloved General, George Washington. The giant of a man looked livid, having apparently been at the center of whatever dispute had just occurred. Pickering, like the others, scooted out of Washington's way as his long legs strode past, a hush falling over the crowd. Pickering turned his head the other way and glimpsed a distressed looking man fallen to the ground before being blocked out of sight again by the crowd. Pickering caught the man standing next to him by the elbow and whispered in his ear. "Did you see what happened?"

"Aye," the man responded, slightly louder now to be heard over others who had begun whispering and talking again, now that Washington had left. "That chap over there," he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, at, Pickering presumed, the man who had fallen on the ground, "he owed some money to a bloke from Virginia, and they got in a tussle over it. General Washington broke 'em up by firing his pistol in the air."

"Ah," Pickering said, quickly forming an image in his mind's eye. "Another gambling incident." Washington hated the practice and had issued orders for gambling in all forms to be forbidden in the army. That didn't keep a number of the men from still playing cards when they had a few empty hours, which was common these days.

"I don't think so, sir," the man said. "I believe he owed him a fair loan. He wouldn't pay it; General Washington got angry and picked him up by his coat, then the bloke mentioned Robert Morris' resignation, and the General must've not heard the news yet, because then he just dropped him and walked off."

Pickering did a double take. "Did you say Robert Morris resigned?"

"Aye, word arrived from General Gates' camp about an hour ago. Now that's curious; if General Gates knew, why not General Washington?"

To Pickering, the better question was, why had Morris resigned? Robert Morris was well known as one of the wealthiest businessmen in Philadelphia, and an active supporter of the war. As the Superintendent of Finance, the Articles of Confederation gave him responsibility over handling the financial matters of Congress, the army, and much more. His resignation was troubling, especially now, of all times. The army expected payment for their services, Morris was head of the committee charged to oblige. In the past, Congress had forgotten them time and time again; this news made him worried it was happening once more.

The crowd was quickly dispersing, including the man Pickering had questioned. He made to return to his quarters, but as he mulled over this distressing bit of news, he decided he would head toward Gates' camp instead. He fetched his horse and rode the three-mile distance through the sloshy ground.

He tied his horse to a tree stump outside the second camp and hadn't finished stretching his legs when a man Pickering recognized walked up to him and extended a hand.

"Major Armstrong," Pickering addressed the man, shaking his proffered hand. "What is General Gates having you do for him these days? Fetch water for his dogs? Put on puppet shows to entertain the men?" Major John Armstrong Jr. was one of General Gates' aides. The two had met when Armstrong had come to Pickering in need of parchment for Gates, who meant to write a letter to Brigadier General Henry Knox, giving Knox his recommendation on what military tactics he should have used, rather than follow Washington's orders at the battle of Trenton, despite Washington's crushing victory.

Armstrong chuckled. "I should say you owe me a glass of scotch for insulting our work," he responded. "You know there is still much business to attend to before this war is over."

"So the rumors are true, then? Robert Morris has resigned?"

"Indeed they are," Armstrong said, slapping Pickering on the shoulder. "Come, let us talk of these matters inside. I am glad to see you, we could use a mind like yours for this."

Pickering wasn't sure what Armstrong meant by that, or why he didn't seem as concerned about this news as he should have been, yet he let him lead him to his tent near the center of camp. Armstrong folded back the flap and allowed Pickering to enter first. There were three other men inside, standing in a circle, talking amongst themselves. The discussion halted when they looked up and saw them entering.

"Gentlemen," Armstrong said, "this is Timothy Pickering, an acquaintance of mine. This is Christopher Richmond, William Barber, and William Eustis," He pointed at each of the men in turn, and Pickering shook hands with them.

"Timothy Pickering, the Quartermaster General?" the one named Richmond asked.

"The very same," Pickering said.

The three men gave a respectful nod. "Good, good." Richmond gave Pickering's hand an extra pump.

Armstrong cleared his throat. "Now now, we are meeting here not as soldiers, but as concerned citizens." Armstrong scooted a wooden chair out from his desk to take a seat. On this cue, the other men found places to sit. One took a footstool, one sat on a rug covering the ground. Pickering leaned back and placed some of his weight on the desk. Everyone now more comfortable, Armstrong continued. "We all know that there is only one reason why Morris would resign: it is because he knows Congress won't pay us. After all these years and this nation giving its best blood to bring independence to these states, the greedy politicians can't get off their fat arses to pay us. They have never cared about the soldiers, or the army, they merely use us for their own gain. They profit on the war and then leave us to starve, freeze, and die of malaria."

"Here!" the three men shouted. Pickering warily nodded in agreement.

Armstrong's voice rose. "I have heard, in my many conversings with General Gates, that the General knew Robert Morris to be a wise man, one who understood and empathized with the many plights of this army. He is a true patriot, who unlike the rest of Congress, has given all that he has to the cause of liberty, for as you know, Morris was a self-made, wealthy businessman. The rumor is he has given so much of his wealth and plenty to the cause that he is near bankrupt, and the rest of the stubborn politicians refusing to reach into their own purses for even a penny has fanned his anger to the boiling point.

"For a truth, General Gates confided in me that Congress has shut down Morris' repeated attempts to pass legislature for the rightful payment of this army. I surmise that once King George signs the treaty, Congress expects us to disband so that they might forget about us, for once we lay down our arms, we have no more power to exact our proper dues."

Barber slammed his fist into his open palm. "Those fools! Those drunken fools! What do they take us for?"

"God knows if we know it, every man in this camp knows it," Richmond growled. "If I don't get my pay at the end of all this, I will take my musket to Philadelphia myself to get it, at the point of bayonet if I have to!"

"Here!" "Here!"

"What about General Washington?" Pickering cut in over the shouting. "Congress will listen to him, long has he pled our cause and they have acquiesced."

"Too long, I think," Armstrong said. "Congress is wearied with his constant and incessant pleadings. He has lost all favor with them, dragging them to do this or that like an ox drags a plow. I tell you, they are tired of it!"

"Besides," Eustis added, "Washington is too conservative with his demands. Why, if he stormed Congress the way he stormed Cornwallis at Yorktown, he could have them begging to serve his every whim and pleasure. He could be king, but he won't take a crown if he were offered all the world's riches and fine lands!"

"Agreed," Armstrong said. "Washington has done a great service for this country, but he is not fit for the delicacy of the situation."

"Then we are doomed," commented Richmond.

The room turned quiet. Pickering found the anger in the room contagious, filling his soul with fury like the others. Although he shared their anger, he did not like the dark mood of the room. He stood and clenched his fists in his pockets. "These are distressing times," he said. "Even after the war is over, it seems we still must go on fighting tyranny in our midst! Dirty Tories!" Seething, he flipped aside the tent door flap and walked out. Pickering found his way back to his horse and spurred it off in the direction of his camp, hoping to outrun his feelings.

Still inside the tent, Armstrong huddled with his would-be co-conspirators. "Gentlemen," he said, "I may know something we can do about this."

* * *

A stormy Sunday's winds and rains kept all men not posted on duty inside after the morning services. The news about Robert Morris was naturally the leading topic of discussion among the troops, Pickering found as did his rounds. Many of the conversations he either overheard or took part in had little variation from the talk the previous day in Armstrong's tent. Rumors were flying that it was universally expected the army would not disband until they had obtained justice. Pickering's experience had taught him that the men regularly got upset about political news, but this time it was affecting them even more than usual. The way he saw it, if they really intended to band together against the highest governing body in the land, the very act was, by definition, treasonous, just though he agreed their case to be. Either this was going to turn out to be all talk and would blow over soon, or mob mentality might take over and this could become a very serious affair.

The next morning, he had no doubt which of the two it would be.

The skies had cleared overnight. The sun's golden rays twinkled brightly on the rippling Hudson as it rose across the far side of the river. This morning's general orders were delivered to the adjutant's office, per usual. As was customary, leading officers were lined up in the small field just outside the office to receive their orders for the day. Pickering waited among them, knowing everyone gathered here was most eager for news on the financial situation. Finally, the papers arrived. The reader stepped up on a log platform with the documents in his hand and read in a loud voice for all the men to hear.

"General orders, March 10, 1783. The Commander in Chief recommends uniformity in the mode of…"

Pickering glossed over the beginning. Many of the orders weren't new. Reminders of watch shifts, protocols for the division of labor, a slight change in meal times, a note that soldiers should keep their hair clipped short, such minutia hardly concerned him. He felt the men around him grow restless, as did the reader, who hurried through the general orders. Before long, he had reached the end of the parchment.

"With the highest regards and esteem," he read, "signed, your Commander-in-Chief, George Washington."

The men, Pickering included, looked around at each other, wearing bemused expressions. _That was it?_

Clearing his throat, the reader then cried, "I have also received a certain anonymous letter." He shuffled papers around in his hands and held a new page up to the light. "To the officers of the army: Gentlemen, a fellow soldier, whose interest and affections bind him strongly to you, whose past sufferings have been as great, and whose future fortune may be as desperate as yours—would beg leave to address you."

Everyone held their breath as the reader continued. This was a peculiar moment. These morning briefings were supposed to be for official orders—for an unnamed soldier to address the officers in a letter like this was, while not unheard of, unusual nonetheless.

The letter quickly turned charged with inflammatory rhetoric. After it recalled the army's suffering and glory, it compared them with 'the coldness and severity of government,' and the country's ingratitude to the men who had placed it 'in the chair of independency.'

"And peace returns again to bless—whom? A country willing to redress your wrongs, cherish your worth and reward your service? Is this the case? Or is it rather a country that tramples upon your rights, disdains your cries and insults your distresses?"

Pickering was reminded of his conversation in Armstrong's tent. It was becoming clear to him that the intent of the writer of this letter matched Armstrong's. One glance showed him the officers in his midst were also nodding in approval.

"If this, then, be your treatment, while the swords you wear are necessary for the defense of America, what have you to expect from peace, when your voice shall sink, and your strength dissipate by division?" There it was, this letter's true message. When the army gives up its sword, it will give up its power to claim its rightful dues, should the people fail them.

"When those very swords, the instruments and companions of your glory, shall be taken from your sides, can you then consent to be the only sufferers of this revolution, and retiring from the field, grow old in poverty, wretchedness, and contempt? If your spirit should revolt to this, oppose tyranny under whatever garb it may assume; whether it be the plain coat of republicanism, or the splendid robe of royalty!"

The meaning couldn't be plainer. The letter was calling the army to revolt against Congress if it wasn't paid. The treasonous language which, till now, had only been heard in whispers, was being uttered openly.

It's point now clear, the letter moved on to its closing remarks. "A meeting of the general and field officers is requested at the public building, on Tuesday next, at 11 o'clock, to consider the late letter from our representatives in Philadelphia, and what measures, if any, should be adopted, to obtain that redress of grievances which they seem to have solicited in vain." After delivering one final charge to the army to push Congress to agree to their demands by peace or by war, the letter abruptly ended.

Like a wildfire, copies of this letter spread throughout the entire camp, and its words had sounded in every ear long before the sun had set.

* * *

Pickering was writing in his cabin that afternoon when he heard a knock at his door. "Come in," he answered. Major Armstrong let himself in. Pickering put aside his quill and rose to meet him. "Major Armstrong, you must be pleased with the direction the mood in this camp is turning."

"Always straight to the point, aren't you?" Armstrong replied. "Never any time for small talk?"

"The army has turned me into an efficient man," Pickering decided. "I don't always have the time for manners." He motioned for Armstrong to take a seat across from him, and sat back down at his desk. "Frankly, though, the anonymous letter that arrived this morning has caused my soul to seep into a black abyss, which is what I must blame for my shortness of patience today."

"Why is that, old friend?" Armstrong asked.

Pickering took a moment to compose his thoughts. "I suppose its intent is just and true, at its core. Congress has wronged this army too many times to count. If it can't even pay these men for their valiance and courage, this nation would be truly ungrateful. To rise up against our own brethren, though? It undermines the very ideals we have been fighting Britain for."

"Do you see any other option?"

Pickering sighed. "If Congress refuses to pay, no. No, I don't."

The two men sat in silence for a while. Armstrong offered a cigar, Pickering declined, so he lit it and took a deep drag. "Look," Armstrong said, "I do not like it either, but when Congress dismisses and ignores our service to this country, I see no difference between our republic and Britain's monarch. If our own government—how did the Declaration of Independence put it? 'Evinces a design to reduce us under absolute despotism'—we should fight on for our freedom. The revolution must continue until all men are equal."

Pickering nodded. "No government is perfect. Not even ours."

Armstrong took a long look around the cabin. "Suppose Congress does renege on their promise to pay us, and the army has no choice but to march on Philadelphia. Would you be with us?"

"Us?" Pickering stated hesitantly.

"Come now, you know where I stand on this issue." Armstrong folded under Pickering's stare. "All right, let's just say I may know the man who wrote the letter. Look, I know it sounds treasonous, but if we want America's future to be the future we've been fighting this entire war for, we have to consider all possibilities. If Washington fails to secure Congress's support and the army's payment, we must turn to somebody else who will not fail us. We must turn to General Gates."

So this was what Armstrong had come to talk about, Pickering realized. The man had always been deeply loyal to Gates.

"Gates has the leadership this army needs right now," Armstrong was saying. "He will do what we know Washington cannot. He will fight Congress tooth and nail to get this army what it deserves."

"He may drive a wedge through the heart of this country while doing it," Pickering warned.

"A wedge will form if he doesn't do it," countered Armstrong. "We were lucky to win this war, and Britain knows it. They will come back, whether it be ten, twenty, or fifty years for now. And when the next war with Britain begins, who will fight it if everyone remembers how Congress forgot its own militia?"

Pickering rested his chin in his hand in thought.

"I want you to see the full import of this moment," Armstrong said, leaning forward. "In the very likely event that Congress decides not to pay us, there is going to be an uprising of the army. I think that after today's letter, nothing is stopping that. You are going to have to decide which side of history you want to be on, Timothy. Horatio Gates will be remembered, revered, by generations to come, for bravely fighting tyranny in all forms. George Washington will fade into obscurity and be forgotten. Mark my words, this is how history will remember them! General Gates is this country's future, and the army will be his glory! Trust me, his camp is where true greatness awaits."

Pickering wasn't as certain as his associate. "I will sleep on it, I think," he told his friend, "and wait and see a little longer. The letter called a summons for tomorrow, and if I know General Washington, he will not stand idly by."

Armstrong nodded and stood to leave. "I know you are friends with Washington; but you should reconsider if he is up to this challenge. He may have the men's love, just remember. The purse always has a more powerful effect on history than anything else."

Pickering bowed his head in thought as his friend departed.

* * *

When the general orders arrived the next morning, the Commander-in-Chief acknowledged the anonymous letter and the meeting it called for that very day; however, while giving the meeting his sanction, he also moved it to Saturday so that it could be held with proper deliberation, letting the passions of the officers cool that reason might prevail. Pickering saw Armstrong once more that week. Pickering reaffirmed that he wanted to see Washington's response before he picked a side. Armstrong argued that Washington appeared to be on his side. After all, if the General opposed it, why would he go through with holding the meeting? What difference did it make whether it was held on Tuesday or Saturday? Besides, Washington had indicated in his orders that he would not be in attendance anyways. The officer in charge would therefore be General Gates. Armstrong was convinced that Gates would seize this moment to take command of the army, with or without Washington's approval. To Pickering, it was hard to pick which was the worst of two evils.

* * *

Saturday, March 15, 1783  
The Temple, Newburgh, NY

The "Temple of Virtue," "Temple," or "New Building," as it was most commonly called, was a 40-by-70-foot lodge resting in a grassy meadow about two miles southwest of the site of General Washington's office headquarters. Recently built as a meetinghouse for the army, it served many functions: a place of worship, a meeting hall, a commissary and mess hall, sometimes it even held dances and parties. This was where the officer's meeting was to be held. Pickering had arrived a few minutes early, and he was glad he did. The meeting was scheduled to start at noon; when his pocket watch read five till, the building had already been filled to standing room only.

Outside it was a sunny day, one of the warmest of the year so far, but with no windows, the Temple had to be lit by torch. Pickering was located in a corner of the single large, square room, able to see the lectern at the front. General Gates was standing on the stage, waiting for the meeting to begin. Major Armstrong was seated behind Gates, preparing to take notes of the proceedings. At exactly twelve o'clock, Gates snapped his pocket watch shut, slid it in his coat, and rose to call the meeting to order.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," he roared in a booming voice. The talk obediently petered out. "This meeting of the general officers of the army, held to discuss the necessary measures to be taken against Congress to ensure the just payment of this army, is called to order on this, the fifteenth of March, in the year of our Lord, one thousand, seven hundred and eighty-three." Behind him, Armstrong was scratching away on his notes.

Gates cleared his throat. "Our Congress, the high seat of the government of these United States, has betrayed us." A blast of jeers and boos sounded from the crowd. Pickering observed with reserved caution.

"They treat us like an old horse!" More jeers and yells. "To be shot when its usefulness has ended!" A fleck of spit flew from his lips. The men were pumping their fists in anger, shouting their approval of his words. A tingle of fear shivered down Pickering's spine. This crowd was ready for blood, and Gates held the men in his hands like a potter kneading clay.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," Gates held up his hands to pause the clamoring. "I say Congress cannot hear words, only action!" He smugly stood up straight, with arms clasped behind his back, as the officers banged and yelled below him.

All at once, the room went silent. The tall visage of George Washington, seemingly from nowhere, strode to the stage at the front. Gates' puffed-up demeanor instantly deflated.

"Sir," Gates uttered, addressing his superior officer, "you were not expected at this meeting."

Washington stepped on to the platform to tower over Gates. In a quiet voice, almost a whisper, belying his size, he simply replied, "Nevertheless, I am here."

Gates had no choice but to step aside and let Washington have the floor.

Washington calmly pulled a slip of paper from his coat pocket. "An anonymous letter to the officers of the army," he read. He paused, looking up. "You have all read this?"

The crowd muttered a general assent.

Washington glanced back down. "Broadside, given to all officers, except your Commander-in-Chief. How inconsistent with the rules of propriety, how unmilitary and how subversive to all order and discipline!" His voice raised sharply with each word. He looked over the officers once more. None in the room could meet his sharp gaze.

He continued. "It calls for the army to take over the government."

"Yes!" They returned more vocally, this time.

"I quote, 'If peace comes, never sheathe your swords until you have obtained what is your right."

"It is our right!" shouted the mob.

"Your right!?" Washington roared above the din. "My god, what can this writer want? Is he a friend to the army?"

"Yes!"

"A friend of this country?"

"Yes!"

"No, damn him! He's a foe!"

The men in the room began to murmur their dissent among themselves.

"Perhaps he is an agent from the British!" Washington had to shout over the noise again. "Plotting our ruin by creating discord between the civil and the military!"

One of the men in the crowd raised the nerve to shout back. "If you will not lead us, sir, stand aside!"

"I will not stand aside," Washington leered, pointing at the man with his finger. "And if you try and silence me, you are asking for a nation in which freedom of speech is taken away, and dumb and silent we are led like sheep to the slaughter!"

No one in the room made a peep after that.

"You will not march on Philadelphia," Washington ordered, crumpling up the letter and throwing it to the floor. The room was so quiet a dropped pin could have been heard.

"You are men of honor," said Washington. "You know that if any army be allowed to terrorize civilian government for political ends, the future of this country will be throw into a gulf of civil horror! I know you, I have fought beside you, I have listened to your cries, I've grieved with you, and we are bound together in a sacred brotherhood of free men. Be true to it, and you will be true to yourselves! True to the highest aspirations of these United States!"

The General took a sweeping gaze around the room. Though no one dared to speak against him, he could still see the anger in their eyes. Their red faces were lined in mutiny. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife.

"I have a letter," Washington said, changing tactics, and extracting another paper from his pockets, "from a member of Congress, and they are trying to do justice to this army!"

Pickering bowed his head. He could feel it in the people around him. They were shifting, shuffling, seething. Washington's opportunity was passed. Nobody was listening anymore. In another minute or so, Pickering believed they might even attack Washington.

At the moment he had glanced away, Pickering heard the strangest sound come from General Washington. It was a grunt of—surprise? His eyes snapped back to attention.

General Washington was oscillating the paper near and far to his face, squinting, apparently struggling to read it. He held it this way and that, trying to catch the torchlight better. Then, with a befuddled look, he set the paper aside and looked up at the crowd.

"Gentlemen," he said, in that same quiet, humble voice he used before, "you'll permit me to put on my spectacles." He sunk a hand into his coat's inside pocket. Withdrawing a pair of readers, he clumsily balanced them on his nose. "For you see," he added, looking over the rim of the lens at his men, "I have grown not only gray, but almost blind in service of my country."

He picked the paper back up and quietly read it to the men, but Pickering couldn't hear what was said. The men around him were gasping, whispering, even sobbing. It was a sight unlike any other—their brave commander, who had risked more for this war than any other man—seeing him require assistance to read a simple letter was as shocking to them as if he had suddenly began levitating.

Pickering remembered that when Congress had asked Washington to lead the army, the General had only asked in return that he would not be paid for his services. He loved his country, he loved his men, and Pickering knew they knew it. How could they have forgotten what they were fighting for? Not money, but for freedom, for justice. There was no freedom or justice in staging a coup d'état.

Pickering could tell, as could Washington, that this sight had had a profound effect on the men. They were shaken. Many of the men were weeping. All thirst for blood and violence had totally lost its momentum. Even General Gates wore shame in his eyes. Washington nodded to his aide, Alexander Hamilton, and quickly finished his speech. Without further remark, he left the building, and a profound silence hung in the air.

Henry Knox stepped up when Gates seemed unable to speak. "I motion a call for vote," he said. "That the army stays its course, and does not march on Philadelphia."

Many seconds rang through the room.

"All in favor, say 'Aye.'"

"Aye!"

"All opposed, say 'Nay.'"

Nothing. The vote was unanimous.

The meeting was quickly brought to a close. An inexplicable feeling lingered in the men's hearts as the Temple was emptied and they made their way back to their campsites. Pickering still couldn't believe what he saw. A storming angry mob calmed by naught but a few words of their loving leader. It seemed nearly as miraculous to him as when Christ calmed a raging, stormy sea. That was the respect that this army had for George Washington. A great crisis had been averted. Though it occurred to him that such a complete reversal was a little hypocritical of the men, Pickering was thankful.

* * *

News that peace with Great Britain had been reached arrived at Congress on April 11 and made its way to the army shortly. The Treaty of Paris was officially signed on September 3, and the continental army disbanded not long after. Ultimately, they were recompensed five year's full pay for their services by Congress. On December 23, Washington arrived at Congress to resign from his commission as Commander-in-Chief, a final act solidifying his loyalty to the republic and also his personal honor. He arrived at his home at Mount Vernon and saluted his beloved wife, Martha, on Christmas Eve.

This glossed over story in American history, despite its neglect, is regarded by historians as a crucial tipping point. This portrayal may put the Continental Congress in a bad light, a light the army would view their motives from—in actuality, Congress was simply, utterly broke. Under the Articles of Confederation, it had limited power to tax, and had already amassed heavy debts to France to support the war. Additionally, America had learned to fear the presence of a standing army, and some of the states held steep reservations against funding a Continental Army, afraid of the connection such an entity had with corrupt bureaucracy. And for good reason. Had the army revolted against its own government, the American experiment would have failed as soon as it had begun. A complete takeover without Washington's leadership was unlikely—even the greatest army in the world, that of Great Britain, couldn't corner the congressional body to force a surrender, the land was simply too vast. Washington's commanding respect of virtually the entire nation, on the other hand, could have potentially made a coup a success. Had he desired it, he could have crowned himself monarch. He was already worshiped by the majority of Americans. Washington's virtue, humility in greatness, and dedication to the ideals of freedom and democracy saved America at this, as well as at many other moments in its founding.

A comparable chronicle from history is the rise of Napoleon Bonaparte. Similarly a brilliant general and beloved war hero, his takeover of the military was instrumental in his conduction of the coup d'état that ended the French Revolution. The French Revolution had begun on a similar premise to the American Revolution, but the end result was vastly different: rather than founding a democracy, it became a military dictatorship under Napoleon upon declaring himself Emperor. Even after the overthrow of Napoleon, France would struggle to imitate America's level of success in the democratic experiment for many years. It is hard to say America would have had a similar fate had the Newburgh Conspiracy been a success, but we can be certain that military and civil relations would have been strained if Washington had failed to prevent this coup. The United States Constitution would probably never have been created, and the Union would have remained weak and small and relatively unimportant in world events, if it lasted at all under the Articles of Confederation.

* * *

 **Author's note:**

 **Hey all, it's been a while! the zapdos is back, with a new name and some new game! Get ready for stories that are much darker and more serious than what I used to write. Don't worry, I won't go too far overboard with it, I think...**

 **As you know, this is the long-awaited sequel to Under Absolute Despotism. I'll give the usual disclaimer that I don't own Phineas and Ferb, but I'll go one further with another disclaimer that there will not be a lot of Phineas and Ferb characters in this. Take, for example, this prologue here. The remainder of the story will be taking place mainly in PJ's present, and in his time the kids have all grown up and gone their separate ways.** **It still counts as a P &F fanfiction because it is set in the P&F universe, sans the episode Act Your Age and the entirety of Milo Murphy's Law. The reasons AYA and MML aren't considered canon in this story are clear if you remember some of the important plot points regarding time travel in Despotism, which was written before those episodes were released. The chronological details simply don't agree. If you're okay with that, then this story is for you!**

 **If you are interested, I have the bibliography for my research in writing this chapter, but won't be posting it here because FFN is so anti-website links. You may PM me if you would like to see it, or what may be easier is to find this story on Archive Of Our Own, where I have posted the bibliography with links. Thanks for bearing with me on the history lesson, the rest of the story will be focused on PJ, I promise! Also, apologies in advance, you will have to forgive me for this but expect slow updates. I am posting this first chapter now to commit myself, I am writing this story! I am also busy, and it will take some time. It goes without saying that the secret to motivating me to write faster is to review! I'll just leave it at that. Thanks, and happy reading!**


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Conspirium Warehouse Lot, not far outside New York City  
September 17, 2049

"All teams, check in!"

"Waters and Olsen, locked and loaded!"

"Eliot here, Ramirez here!"

"Tui and Willy are good to go."

"This is Coombs, Lee is getting the perimeter ready."

PJ scanned the monitors in front of him. Each screen was a direct feed from the body cams worn by every member of his small but fierce strike team, eight screens in total.

"All right," PJ said, "Lee, we're all waiting on you!"

"Don't worry, this Conspirium outpost is coming down soon enough." Lee's screen showed he was handling a mounted metal turret that came to a point with a satellite dish. The dish was aimed at the warehouse facade. "Firing on my mark," Lee said over the radio comms. "Three, two, one. Fire!"

A red beam of light shot out of the turret with a _pew!_ The laser struck the face of the warehouse, and the building instantly liquified and melted like a chocolate bar under a high-powered lamp heater.

"It's a hit!" Lee whooped.

PJ applied his finger against his earpiece. "All strike teams, go, go, GO!"

Thousands of gallons of brown liquid flushed across the warehouse lot, carrying everything in its wake. Furniture, crates, desks and chairs, people sloshing and splashing to get their heads above the flood. PJ's team emerged from their hiding spots to charge into the pandemonium, their firearms set to stun, efficiently hitting their targets' bodies with every shot. The watery slush spread and the flood lost power, and the people who hadn't been hit yet climbed to their feet and ran the other direction―only to find themselves flanked by another strike team member and stunned.

Those who were hit by the stunners discovered the "bullets" didn't penetrate, but only delivered a series of sharp, electric impulses, causing the recipient to convulse violently and drop to the ground, immobilized. In seconds, this fate had befallen two-thirds of the Conspirium members who had been washed out, the agents bearing down on the rest.

One of the last Conspirium terrorists still on his feet had ducked and dodged out of sight long enough to make it to a rack of rifles that had been flipped over in the deluge. He found a sophisticated looking machine large enough to hide himself behind and cradled the weapon in his arms, scanning his surroundings.

Eliot raised his barrel toward an exposed man who was crawling away with his pants around his ankles. Apparently, his final peaceful moments had been spent sitting on the porcelain throne when the ambush had begun. With a smirk, Eliot pulled the trigger and watched the man wriggle and writhe.

"I didn't expect to have a stakeout with a guy who literally has his 'stake' out," Eliot chuckled, making sure his body cam got a good look at his work. It cost him when the man with a rifle jumped out and raised his barrel to aim.

"Eliot! Watch out!" Ramirez dove to shove her partner out of harm's way. The bullet lodged into her calf as she and Eliot hit the ground. Ramirez grabbed her leg and cried out in agony.

"Ramirez!" PJ called out, helplessly removed from the situation. "Are you all right? Eliot, get her out of there!"

Eliot rolled, with Ramirez in his arms, behind an overturned table just as more bullets streaked past him.

"I'm fine!" Ramirez snarled, pushing Eliot off of her. "Don't read anything into this," she added, holding her leg with one hand, jabbing a finger in his chest with the other. "I saved your life because you're my partner! Out of professional obligation, you hear? I still don't like you, and I still won't go out with you!"

"Oh, c'mon!" Eliot said, before popping up from cover to put two stunners in the man's chest. He turned back to Ramirez. "You literally just took a bullet for me! I think that the lady-like thing to do would be to accept my offer to take you out to dinner. It's the least I could do to thank you for saving my life!"

"I said no!"

"At least a drink?"

At that moment, the comms crackled noisily. "All clear," Tui's husky voice announced.

"Olsen," PJ said, "Ramirez needs medical."

"On it," Olsen answered.

"I'm fine!" Ramirez repeated herself. "It's just a flesh wound, I could still kick the crap out of any of you with this leg."

PJ flipped a switch and the monitors folded away behind a wall. He opened a door, and the invisible van he had been working from gave away its faint outline when he and the rest of its innards appeared into view across the street. He shut the door, and the optical illusion readjusted and instantly corrected itself, and the automobile vanished once more.

PJ the Platypus was the spitting image of Perry, his fa―well, it was more complicated than that. The world's first cloned platypus supersoldier, he was trained at the OWCA Academy before joining the Secret Service upon graduating with top marks. Just a few brief months ago, President Isabella Flynn had set him up over a task force charged with finding the secret organization known as the Conspirium and bringing them to justice.

Walking up to inspect the scene, PJ didn't bother trying to avoid the leftover reddish-brown puddles of slurry, indifferently splashing through it like it wasn't there. He checked each of the Conspirium prisoners he passed, making sure they weren't hurt badly. "Every Conspirium member captured, zero casualties, how's Ramirez's leg?"

Olsen gave him the thumbs up. A fresh strip of gauze was wrapped up and down her calf.

"Good work, team," PJ summed up. "Now let's load 'em up and get 'em outta here."

A hovercraft the size of a Boeing was approaching. PJ organized his crew as they arrested everyone they had stunned and moved them on to the ship, which had set down where the warehouse used to be. While Olsen continued his checkup on Ramirez, the rest of his team did the hard work of hauling every limp body up the ramp. Tui and Willey, the big guys, were strong enough to carry two at a time. They had detained twenty-five Conspirium prisoners by the time they were done. Other government workers who had arrived on board the ship were inspecting the warehouse supplies the Conspirium had been holding here, cataloging and acquisitioning them as they went.

All in all, it was a successful raid. There was only one thing missing: Suzy Johnson. According to their intel, she should have been here. She slipped away once again. PJ oversaw the final cleanup and readied his team for transport back to Washington, knowing that without her, they still didn't have any real leads.

* * *

Ramirez was able to walk to her seat, albeit with a pronounced limp, and strap herself in unassisted. She would take her muscle tissue regenerators before bed and sleep the healing off, then be good as new in the morning. Ramirez was the only woman on PJ's strike team, and her gritty attitude helped her keep ahead of all the boys.

Next to her was Eliot, as usual. PJ worried about assigning them as partners at first, then he simply realized that Eliot flirted this much with every girl he came in contact with. Eliot considered himself the funniest, handsomest, and smartest person in the world. PJ did have to give him credit for being a good soldier, even if his ego tended to take up the entire room.

Buckled across from them were Olsen and Waters. They were the newest additions to his team. Both were dependable, quietly doing their jobs and obeying every order without question―the ideal soldiers. All PJ knew about Waters was that his only daughter was mentally handicapped. According to his file, she was bound to a wheelchair; couldn't speak, couldn't eat, couldn't understand words. He never spoke about what happened. As for Olsen, PJ knew even less about him. He knew he was Catholic, and if Eliot's gossip could be trusted, he was also apparently a good singer.

In the back were Williams and Tuitavuki. Both were at least six-foot-six and pushing three hundred pounds of solid muscle. Although race didn't mean much to PJ other than that it was a subject to be treated with sensitivity around humans, Willy was black and Tui was polynesian. They had been best friends since college, where they met as roommates while playing on the football team. How they both wound up working as field agents for the CIA, and as partners for that matter, PJ couldn't tell. It only drove home the fact that they seemed truly inseparable.

That left Coombs and Lee. Coombs was actually born deaf, and received implants that let him hear. His unique skill for lip reading had come in handy on a recon mission when their listening tech had failed. Speaking of tech, Lee was the one in charge of that. He was the only one on the team who seemed to know how Phineas and Ferb's equipment worked, or who could fix it if it broke. It was only because of Phineas and Ferb's inventions that they had come this far in tracking the Conspirium, PJ knew. If it wasn't for the help of the two greatest scientists and engineers in history, they would have spent the last two months chasing ghosts and shadows.

With a jolt, the hover plane lifted off, taking the team home. Coombs and Lee finally sat down and buckled themselves in.

"Everybody up to get drinks and celebrate when we get back?" Eliot asked.

They all nodded their assent.

"How about you, boss?"

PJ hesitated. "I have a lot of work to do," he equivocated.

"Oh, come on!" Eliot whined. "You literally never celebrate with us! C'mon, this was the biggest bust we've had! You've gotta let loose and have some fun every once in a while, you know!"

With a shake of his head, PJ gave up. "Okay, you're right. This team deserves a little R&R."

"Whoo!" Eliot elbowed Ramirez, who flinched slightly as she pulled a bill out of her pocket and begrudgingly handed it to him. PJ rolled his eyes.

The short flight ended and the bay doors opened up a view of an underground bunker. They disembarked quickly, taking the path through the maze of metal hallways they knew well enough to navigate in the dark. PJ's men parted to hit the showers. Ramirez sighed with relief to put some distance between herself and Eliot.

"Why do I have to be his partner?" she asked PJ as they walked. "It feels like I'm constantly babysitting him. _Literally._ " She mimicked the way he accented his favorite word.

"Well, you are the only one he listens to," explained the platypus.

"Yeah, only because he hopes I'll give him a kiss if he does." She turned to go to the ladies' room. "If I end up shooting him one of these days, consider it your fault."

PJ stopped by his workstation to glance at the report on what they found at the warehouse. The conclusion the government scientists who had analyzed the Conspirium's confiscated tools, equipment, and parts had come to was that at least some work had been done at the warehouse on trying to replicate a time machine. They had also detected trace amounts of C4, indicating that explosives had been stored there recently. The other most notable impounds were various weapons, though there weren't enough of those to arm more than a small platoon at best. The good news was that they hadn't found any Phineas and Ferb tech. A few guns and bombs were not nearly as dangerous as that would be in the Conspirium's hands, PJ knew.

He paused a moment to fit the pieces together. What was the Conspirium planning to do with these things? A time machine was concerning, but at least he could be sure they didn't have one yet. Was making another attempt at sabotaging the timeline their plan? Maybe set bombs at a time and place in history that suited the Conspirium's agenda? It did line up with what Suzy Johnson had tried to do before. Or, it could have been the leftovers of an attempt to build a time machine, abandoned after Suzy discovered the one in the Danville Museum. PJ felt he was still missing a crucial piece of the puzzle. _If only we had captured Suzy there,_ he thought.

A notification on his screen caught PJ's eye. _Team's headed out to celebrate, you promised you'd come._ He reluctantly closed the report and left to go join up with his team.

PJ's personal, platypus-sized flying car followed its automated route while he rested his eyes in his reclined seat. His team had done good work today, PJ was at least pleased with that. He could console himself today that they had done their best. In a job as stressful as his, where every decision could be a matter of national security with millions of lives at stake, that was what kept him treading above the ever rising waters. If he could end the day by looking back on it and knowing he had done his very best, the safety of the world couldn't ask for better than that. Well, it could, but it would have to find someone else for the job.

His flying car parked itself and he stepped out, easily finding the diner his team was meeting at. PJ ignored the strange looks the people passing by gave him, as usual, as he walked through the front door.

A waitress heard the chime from his entrance, then a cross look etched on her face. "Shoo, cat! Get out of here!" She tried to herd him back out the door like a stray.

"First off, I'm not a cat, can't you see this?" He pointed at his backside. "Does this look like a cat's tail to you?"

The waitress wore a startled look, like she'd seen a ghost.

"Yeah, I can talk. Secondly―no, you know what? The talking thing was secondly. Thirdly, I'm with a party, the others should be here by now, so I'd appreciate it if you could show me to their table."

PJ was used to strangers reacting like this. When the waitress didn't move or say anything, he simply walked past her, quickly spotting his team at the bar. "Thanks," he said with an insincere air and a wave before pulling himself up onto a stool next to Eliot.

"Hey boss!" Eliot greeted, slapping PJ on the back. "Glad you could make it. So Ramirez and I were wondering―"

"No I wasn't," Ramirez interjected. "Leave me out of this!"

"Okay, Waters and I were wondering how much you could drink. We would have ordered you one already, but, then we figured, you know what? Even a couple ounces would be like drinking a gallon for a playpus! Literally!" Eliot laughed at himself loudly enough for everyone in the diner to hear.

PJ smirked in spite of himself. It was true, he rarely could finish even a glass of lemonade. He did not give Eliot the pleasure of a verbal response, however.

A heavyset man in an apron shuffled over to the group, as if to service them. PJ noticed he was looking straight at him in particular. "Excuse me," he said as soon as he had everyone's attention. "We don't allow pets in here." He indicated at PJ.

Eliot, the one who's mouth PJ wanted to keep shut the most at this moment, of course spoke up. "Pet, are you crazy? This is PJ the platypus, ever heard of him? You've probably seen him on the news!"

"It's not wearing a service animal vest, so I'm sorry, but you'll have to take it outside."

"Take it out―did you not hear me?" Eliot's voice started to rise. "He's not a pet, he's a person!"

"Stand down, Eliot," PJ said, "It's no big deal. We can work something out here." He turned to the waiter. "Can we talk to the manager, please?"

"I am the manager."

"Okay, look. I have a government issued I.D." He flashed his badge. "I'm a citizen of the United States. I have every right to be here."

"And I have every right to refuse service to freaky animals. You're scaring my customers."

"Scaring?" PJ said, puffing up now. "Has anybody here said anything about being scared? Has anybody screamed? I didn't see or hear anything!" He looked around the room. Some people were watching them now, others were staring fixedly at their plates.

"Now you're making a scene," the manager said. "I swear I will call the cops if you don't leave."

Eliot stood up and slammed his hands down on the counter. "Who do you think you are? I'll have you know we literally work for the CIA, so calling the cops does not threaten us!"

"Stand down," PJ said again, plopping off his stool. "It's not worth it."

"But boss," Eliot took a step back. "You don't deserve to be treated like this! Right guys?"

"For once, I agree with you," Ramirez said.

"Yeah," Willy nodded, and Tui as well. "Me too."

"It's okay, guys. I am used to not belonging." PJ walked out of the diner before anyone could say another word, got in his car, and immediately lifted off. After a few silent moments alone, he slammed his fist against the door. "This is why I don't like going out for drinks," he grunted.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington, D.C.  
September 17, 2049

During periods of high threat levels, the front door of the White House is almost never used by the President of the United States. It's far too public and a safety issue. At these times, when the President arrives or departs, he or she takes one of at least four underground tunnels at random―presumably, more are classified―emerging at secret locations across the capitol. The fact that travel by teleportation is entirely restricted on the premises, even to top officials and the President herself, attests to the many measures that have been taken to make the "great white sepulcher of ambitions," as Harry Truman dubbed it, an impregnable fortress in its own right.

PJ had access to an old pedestrian passage connecting the White House and the Old Executive Office Building next door. The undecorated concrete walls never failed to invite a sense of overwhelming isolation in the folks who traipsed past them, estranging yet connecting one of the most secure places on earth with the wild and scary world.

The passage ended at an elevator that took PJ straight to the second floor of the White House. It slid open to a hallway that couldn't have looked more different than the cold cement one he had just emerged from. Up here, every hallway was like a museum, holding priceless works of art and beautiful furnishings. It was getting late, and PJ still hadn't eaten since leaving the diner, so he crept in the direction of the kitchen for a snack. He was just rounding the corner to the entrance when―

"BOO!"

PJ jumped a foot in the air and landed in an action pose, arms up, ready for a fight. He had to force his reflexes to relax again once he recognized the voice. Marie giggled from somewhere behind him and he felt her arms wrap around his teal body and pick him up, squeezing him tightly.

"PJ! You're home!" she squealed excitedly.

He made an act of struggling to free himself, then gave up. Marie was the only person he allowed hugs from. "Marie, don't you know your bodyguard is the last person you should be sneaking up on?"

"I knew you wouldn't hurt me," she teased, gently putting him back down.

"Just be more careful next time," he said, turning around to face her. Her orange blouse was covered in flour. "What have you been up to?" he inquired, indicating the white blotches.

"I'm cooking dinner! Come look!" She pushed on the free-swinging door to the kitchen and held it for him. "Mom said we're going to eat as a family for once, tonight, and Cathy is helping, see?"

Cathy, the President's personal cook, waved at PJ. "Good to see you again, PJ," she said. "How's your work with the Conspirium going?"

"The details are classified, as always, Little Miss Nosey. But I can at least say, things went well today."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to―"

"It's okay," PJ said, putting up a hand for a gesture of silence. Cathy was always so timid and afraid of offending anyone, she'd apologize for anything that didn't seem to make someone incredibly happy. "I was joking. You didn't do anything wrong." Turning to Marie, he asked, "What do you mean by, 'eating as a family?'"

"Well, you know, like a normal family, gathered around the table for dinner."

"It's past nine o'clock. Kind of late for family dinner."

"Yeah, Mom's working late again, as usual. But she's insisting we do this." She bent down and cupped a hand to whisper in his ear. "All she really wants is to make sure I learn how to cook."

"Ah." PJ inhaled deeply. "Well, it does smell good. What are you making?"

"Secret," Marie grinned devilishly.

PJ rolled his eyes. "Okay. Well, I'm just gonna grab something and head off―"

"What? No, you are not! You'll ruin your appetite!"

PJ gave Marie an incredulous look. "You don't mean―?"

"Of course I do! You're part of the family now, too! That means you come eat with the rest of us at family dinner. Now, go wash your hands, PJ! Go! Go!" She started hustling him out of the kitchen. There was nothing PJ could do to fight it. Just like that, he was back in the hallway again. He tested the door just because, and found that Marie was bracing it.

"March!" she ordered, using a playful tone that still managed to sound similar to the authoritative one her mother regularly used with her. "And don't forget to wash your hands!"

He held up his hands in compliance for her to see through the glass window, then turned and made his way down the hall. He briefly considered not washing them just to irk her, yet soon enough, he found himself doing it anyways. From there, he wandered to the dining room. He heard voices echoing his way as he approached, and upon entering he found Phineas talking on the video phone at the table.

"That's what I told them. For once, it was a good thing we got a down payment on the elephant." Phineas turned to see who had come in. "Hey PJ!" he greeted with a grin. "Come say hi to Ferb!"

PJ stood on the chair next to Phineas and leaned into view. "S'up?" Ferb was living with his wife in Danville, and their hands were full running Summertime Industries without Phineas.

"Ferb and I were just discussing a business issue," Phineas stated. "You see, our company has been dealing with a little bit of courtroom drama for the past week. A woman is suing because our hyperpermiable hydrofoam dinosaurs―you know those toys that are foamy dinosaurs, and you put them in water and they grow from an egg to, say, the size of a loaf of bread? Well, ours grow to _life_ size. You know, as big as real dinosaurs. Anyways, her toddler left his outside one day, and it rained all night, and it knocked over their powerline as it expanded."

"Was anybody hurt?"

"Fortunately, no, she's just suing for damages."

"Sounds―fun," PJ drawled.

"We do have the legal advantage that the recommended age label, clearly printed on the toy, was above her kid's age, so that should give us some leeway. Sadly, though, we will probably still end up having to scrap the toy from our inventory. The brachiosaurs _are_ kind of dangerous." The redhead's ever-present smile faded for a moment. Then, it was back. "I bet that's the first time anyone has ever said that a brachiosaurus is more dangerous than a tyrannosaurus!"

Phineas saw movement on Ferb's end. "Oh, it looks like Ferb has to go. Bye, Ferb! We'll talk about it more tomorrow. Good night!" With that, the digital feed collapsed to a dot and vanished. Phineas swiped his tablet, an electronic device similar enough in size and shape to its predecessors of the mid-electronics boom of the '10s, except in that it was far more powerful, entirely clear like glass, and it transformed to a watch and automatically attached itself back to his wrist at his touch.

"So anyways, I saw you had a busy day today, PJ." He turned to give the platypus his full attention. "I presume that the state-of-the-matter transfer device worked out for you?"

"Yes, yes it did." PJ nodded. "We caught the Conspirium completely off guard with it."

"Good," Phineas said. "You know, Ferb and I first invented that machine to help us taste more exotic smoothie flavors as kids. It did accidentally hit Candace, though, but she turned out okay. We never could have guessed back then that we'd end up weaponizing it someday." The inventor paused to sigh. "We never guessed we'd end up weaponizing a lot of things."

PJ tried to reassure him. "It's thanks to your inventions that we're this close to catching Suzy and the Conspirium."

"I know. I just hope that we can go back to using them for fun instead of weapons, someday."

PJ waited a silent moment before he opened his mouth once more. "As soon as we catch Suzy Johnson, you will. Which reminds me, do you have any leads with her?"

"No device I have seems to be able to track her," he admitted. "The photo-transporter has turned up nothing. I even modified the cuteness-tracker to see if that could find anything, to no avail. I guess she's cute on the outside, but rotten on the inside."

None of these invention names made a lick of sense to PJ, so he simply took his word for it.

"Maybe she's got a cloaking device," Phineas was still saying. "Or she could be out of range. Just spitballing, here."

"What's 'out of range' for your―cuteness thing?"

"About 20 light-years."

"You think she could be in space?"

"It's not impossible."

PJ supposed that was true. After all, he'd been to Mars once, but that was another story.

Footsteps were coming down the hall. Marie walked in holding a large, silver tray, and announced, "Dinner's ready!"

"Oh, I got the plates!" Phineas pressed a button at the table, and moments later, a butler lined the table with plates and utensils. Marie placed the tray in the middle.

"Now we just wait for Mom," she said.

"She'll be here any minute," Phineas assured. "She had another meeting go late."

"They should just admit that 'late' is 'right on schedule' around here," sulked Marie.

At 'right on schedule,' more footsteps approached from the hall; the clacking sounds of heels this time. Soon the visage of President Isabella Flynn stepped inside. "Sorry if I made everyone wait."

"Actually, your timing was perfect." Phineas met his wife halfway across the room, and they shared a quick kiss. "Marie's pizza smells like it's hot out of the oven!"

"Dad! It was supposed to be a surprise!"

"Oh, sorry, honey. I guess the scent of pizza is just too distinguishable after Ferb went through that phase in college."

Marie moped around a moment longer next to PJ while her parents took their seats across from them. "Since you kind of ruined the big reveal, Dad, I'll just pretend like that didn't happen. I present to you..." She grasped the handle of the lid. "Pizza a la― _eek!_ "

Just as she lifted the lid, the table blew up. That was what PJ thought. After the pop and flash of yellow and red, the next thing he knew, he had pizza sauce and cheese smeared all over him.

"Oops," giggled Marie. She was likewise covered from head to toe in pizza toppings. "It exploded again!"

Phineas had been the only one to react fast enough. He had propped up his plate vertically just before impact, protecting his face from the splash zone.

Isabella was technically covered in pizza, but not in the same way as Marie and PJ. A neon green forcefield barrier had materialized into existence to surround the foot or so of space around her body, blocking any pizza chunks from reaching her. The forcefield faded away and the pizza chunks slopped to the floor around her, leaving her clean as a whistle.

"Looks like that anti-sniper forcefield you made for me works," Isabella informed her husband, while dipping a finger in cheese and inserting that finger in her mouth.

Marie looked at her parents tentatively, afraid they'd react in anger.

Rather, Phineas nodded exuberantly. "Wow, honey! Exploding pizza!? Now that's a blast from the past, I haven't seen that in years! Your cooking skills have really improved, Marie!" He went to give her a proud hug, while awkwardly trying to avoid the pizza all over her as he did so.

"Yeah, I―uh, meant to make it that way. That―was the surprise!" She gave it her best effort to roll with it and sound convincing. "Hehe, surprise?"

"Wonderful, wonderful," Phineas said, oblivious to her charade. "I'm gonna grab some napkins. You guys, dig in!"

The food was scattered all across the table and even on to the floor, so PJ wasn't sure what he was supposed to 'dig in' to. He watched the Presid―no, he had to remind himself to call her Isabella now―who managed to cut a slice out of what was left on the tray, and served himself the same way. Soon enough, Phineas was back with a plethora of napkins, and PJ wiped himself down before he started eating.

"So, how was school today?" Isabella directed at Marie once they all had their food.

"Good," she succinctly stated. "Guess what happened in band class? Bobby's internet tooth flew out while he was playing the tuba! It was hilarious, I can't wait to tell Tommy about it!"

"That reminds me." Isabella dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin. "How are Ferb and 'Nessa holding up under the lawsuit?"

"They're weathering the storm like champs," answered Phineas. "I was just telling PJ about it."

"Ah, yes." Isabella turned her gaze his way. "And how about you, PJ? I know you had a good day today. My advisors tell me you ran a successful mission against the Conspirium."

"I have to give all the credit to my unit," PJ said. "And to the whatchamacallit that turns whatever it hits into a smoothie. Without that thing, we wouldn't have been able to take every person alive like we did, and we could have lost some of our own. Unfortunately though, we didn't find Suzy."

"The way I see it, we smoked her out of another hiding hole. We'll catch her, eventually."

PJ nodded. "Maybe we'll be able to get some more information from the prisoners we captured today. And as soon as we have a full analysis of what they were working on at the warehouse, we might finally know what they're planning to do next."

"Excellent. I knew I picked the right person for the job." Isabella put down her fork and looked around the table, smiling. "This is the first time we've been able to sit down for dinner together since the election, isn't it? And, of course, it's the first time since PJ joined us. It's so nice to be together like a normal, happy family. I love you all so much." She took Phineas by the hand. The couple looked deeply into each other's eyes, and PJ could feel the care they had for each other practically gushing.

"Jeez, Mom, no need to get all dramatic about it," Marie said, uncomfortable around her parents' display of affection.

"Just you wait. These little 'mom moments' will be a big deal for you too when you have a family of your own."

So this is what it's like, PJ thought to himself. Having a family. People who care about you just because you're in their lives. And not because you can hack or fight or spy or save. Something deep inside of him welled up and burst, and he suddenly cared about these people, too. Intensely. Fiercely. Indescribably. They weren't a mission to him, anymore. They were a family. They were _his_ family. It was one of the happiest feelings he had ever had in his life. He looked down and took a large bite of food to hide an irrepressible smile from the others.

"You look like you're really enjoying your food there, PJ," Isabella pointed out.

"It beats worms and insect larvae," he replied.

"Hey, Mom," Marie blurted, "you know how Gustav is going to be on vacation Monday? Would it be okay if PJ covered the shift for him?" Gustav was Marie's regular detail. That meant on weekdays, he was her bodyguard while she attended school.

"I suppose he could," hummed Isabella, "unless he's already busy working on the Conspirium case?" She fielded the question PJ's direction.

"Our raid on the Conspirium warehouse lot today was the best lead we had on them," PJ answered. "Some of the CIA analysts think we rounded up all the Conspirium except Suzy today, but I believe we have barely scratched the surface. We still have a lot of work to do."

Marie's shoulders drooped sadly.

"But that doesn't mean they need me over there all the time," he continued. Marie perked back up. "I can delegate some of my assignments to someone and watch Marie for the day."

"Oh! Can he, Mom?"

"I don't see why not."

Marie beamed. "Yes!" she exclaimed, pumping her fist victoriously.

Soon, they finished dinner, and everyone bade each other good night. PJ accompanied Marie to her room, listening to her excitedly list all the things they could do on their day together.

"The other cool thing everyone's doing right now is the handstand challenge," she rattled off. "You can do a handstand, right? I was thinking I could do a handstand, and then you could do a handstand on my feet, so we'd be handstand stackers! How cool would that be?" She suddenly yawn deeply.

"Marie," PJ reminded her, "I'll be on the clock, we won't be able to just 'hang out.' I'll need to be in serious mode."

"You mean, 'seriously boring' mode!" She yawned again. "Do you want to sleep in my room tonight?"

"I think I'll use mine, thanks."

"Okay." She stifled a third yawn. "Good night." She opened her door.

"Good night," offered PJ.

"See you in the morning." With that, Marie closed her door. Immediately she opened it again, blushing. "Forgot to brush my teeth," she admitted as she passed PJ.

He watched her disappear into the washroom before slipping into his own bedroom just down the hall. The human-sized bed was perfectly made, and would stay that way as he curled into a ball on top of the comforter and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

 **I forgot to mention this, but it should probably be said. I do not own the characters Thomas or Marie. I don't even know much about them. No promises on representing them in any way IC to how they were created by Sam-Ely-Ember and Angelus19.**


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Washington, D.C.  
September 20, 2049

"Imagine for a moment, class, that you have just invented the first time machine. What do you do? Where should you go? To the future, to see how things turn out? Or to the past, perhaps, to fix a grave mistake? Such was the question that MIT grad student Marty Emmett faced on May 17, 2043. After attending a lecture on time paradoxes given by Phineas Flynn, he went home and constructed the first working time machine―well, that we know of―certainly the first to be replicated. That day, the world was changed forever. The very _meaning_ of history was changed forever. Suddenly, we historians could study the story of ourselves in not just one direction, but two: past, and future! Therefore, today we will be starting our unit on the history of the future."

PJ stood on a stool in the back of the classroom, garbed in the Secret Service's signature black suit and earpiece, hands clasped behind his back, keeping his eyes moving from person to person. There were about forty students arranged in neat rows in the cozy classroom. Marie sat at her desk close by, listening intently to the lecture. The teacher at the front of the room was actually a holographic projection, yet his appearance was so crisp and clear one would not have been able to tell from this far back. The other students posed very little threat, but it was his job to be wary, so PJ maintained a sharp alertness.

"Now, by show of hands, how many in this room have traveled through time?" asked the teacher, whose AI went by Mr. Mondragon.

About half of the room raised their hands. PJ didn't react, even though he belonged in the category.

"Not bad," Mr. Mondragon stated neutrally. "Why don't we take a brief sample of this class's time traveling experience. Mr. Simpson, what made you travel through time?"

A boy in one of the front rows spoke. "My family took a vacation to a hundred years in the future around three years ago. We booked a space cruise through the solar system."

"Ah, yes. The space cruising industry won't be kicking off for another six decades or so," Mr. Mondragon said. "Any others who took a vacation to the future? Let's go with you, Ms. Miller."

"My parents were visiting Hong Kong in 3366 CE when I was born," a small girl with large glasses said. "They're from our time, so they're technically 1,350 years older than me!"

A smattering of laughter reverberated through the room.

"That does sometimes happen," acknowledged Mr. Mondragon.

"My parents are from the twenty-ninth century," one boy shouted out. "They moved to this time because my dad wanted to be a welder, and in his time, that job doesn't exist."

"You will please raise your hand before speaking, Mr. Hedges," Mr. Mondragon adjured. "Although you would be correct, not very many nation's economies require metalwork in that era. Metals are too heavy for the kinds of products consumers in the 2800's use."

Another hand shot up belonging to a girl with long, sunshine-yellow hair.

"Yes, Ms. Lacroix?"

"My parents are from the 2300's, and they moved here after they were married because they loved nature. They wanted me and my brother to see what forests looked like before all the Earth's forests are replaced with digital trees. They still work in the 2300's, though, they just have to take a three-century commute every day."

"Thank you for your comments, class," Mr. Mondragon said, waving away the other hands that had gone up. "We unfortunately do not have time to hear them all today, even if we had a time machine!"

Nobody in the room laughed at his joke. As a computer program, that didn't phase him. "As you can see, time travel offers plenty of new opportunities for people. But can anybody tell me why we can only come and go from the future?"

Marie raised her hand.

"Ms. Flynn?"

"Because after Marty Emmett showcased his first time machine, laws were quickly made to ensure that nobody was allowed to go further back in the past than the date he finished his invention. If someone were to try, they might accidentally alter the spacetime continuum and drastically affect the history of the world, which would be bad."

"Very good, Ms. Flynn. I suspect you are quite aware of these things, given your mother's influence on the UN's decision to make travelling to the past illegal."

"Mm-hm!" Marie nodded.

"As a historian, I do wish we could conduct a few controlled research ventures into the past," Mr. Mondragon sighed. "For instance, an operation to recover the hundreds of thousands of lost scrolls at the library of Alexandria before Julius Caesar burned it to the ground. Or a chance to have a recorded interview with a significant religious figure, such as Jesus, Mohammed, or Buddha. But alas, it is too dangerous.

"On the other side of the coin, interaction between the present and the future suddenly opened wide. A flood of technology, resources, scientific progress, and more, will sweep over this very generation. We know that it will take some fifty years for people living from before time travel's discovery to fully acclimate to the newfound wealth of information and technology. Why, it is only because of the advances made by the great scientists of our age, Phineas and Ferb, that humanity was prepared at all for such a crossroads of trade and prosperity. We have the future given to us, and already know that in less than ten years, we will have wiped out the last of the plagues of humanity. Hunger is already gone. AIDS and Zika, gone. Malaria is almost gone. Cancer, well, there's still no one-size-fits-all solution, but for extreme cases, we can at least send patients to the far future where they'll receive advanced treatment options.

"You are the generation that is witnessing the greatest period of change history will ever know. In fifty years, the flow of knowledge between present and future will have finally stabilized and plateaued. Past that, all technological advances mankind will ever know will already have been made and shared across time, thus only certain fads in lifestyle will go in and out of fashion as the centuries pile on. By 3000 CE, humans will have spread out into the Milky Way galaxy and mixed so thoroughly with alien cultures and life forms that human history as we know it will once again change, and ultimately come to an end, transitioning to a peaceful galactic federation.

"I am sure most of you will be pleased to hear that looking any further than that into the future is beyond the scope of this class. If you are interested in learning more, you can visit with me during my office hours. All you need to know for today is that we know what the future has in store for us, just as we know the past. Just like Mr. Hedge's father, time travel has made historians somewhat obsolete and a niche occupation, which is why I am not a live teacher. However, it is still as important to study history as it has ever been, if not more so. After all, who doesn't want to know the future? So let's dive into the first section of our unit, which should be an easy enough section for most of you since it covers the time period we are living in right now: 2043-2075, The Present and Future Crossroads. Let's pull up the section on our desktops now."

Every student's desk top was literally a desktop; a wide, touchscreen interactive workspace digitally recording the students' work in the teachers' systems. It held everything, from the ebooks students needed, to citation apps for help in citing references in their essays correctly, to folders for students to turn assignments in. The class all swiped around on their desktops to follow along with the lecture.

"Back to 2043 and Emmett's original invention. Emmett revealed his creation to the scientific community shortly after completing it. When word quickly spread he had created the first working time machine, he had to seek out government protection from the many businesses, corporations, even competing national governments and other factions trying to bid, buy, bribe, or even steal it from him. Most first reactions centered on how knowing the future would affect the stock market, which promptly crashed. Aid instantly arrived from the future, of course, nipping the oncoming recession in the bud. The economy was able to adapt to a broken stock exchange because investors could already know what products would be successful, rather than gamble on stocks, and we took our first steps into the new world of perfect knowledge.

"The government debate was just beginning, however. We already discussed how measures were quickly taken to prevent travelling back to the past and disrupting the timeline. These measures were spurred on by the actions of one James Ricardo Louis, who illegally obtained a time machine with the intent to go back in time and assassinate President Clayton as a baby in the 1970's. President Clayton, who was being advised by Phineas and Isabella Flynn and Ferb Fletcher, welcomed an era of prosperity and growth ushered in by the new prospects of time travel. Louis had encountered financial hardships under the micro-recession and blamed President Clayton. Fortunately, the Secret Service were able to trace Louis's movements and stop him. This event, most of all, was the final proverbial straw and the UN saw no choice but to ban all travel back to the past permanently. This law has been upheld as far into the future as we discussed earlier.

"President Clayton, of course, was able to complete his second term in office and was succeeded by President Flynn in the election of 2048, just last year."

A number of her classmates briefly glanced at Marie before turning their attention back to the instructor.

"Since we're on the subject, allow me to indulge in a brief tangent. As you all remember last year, the election process has become a little more complicated since the introduction of time travel. It is now a simple thing to find out who will ultimately win, so we ask, is there still a point to campaigns, all the polls and debates, the appearances and speeches, and everything else that goes on? Not just for the United States, but for democratic nations around the world. This past election was simple enough due to President Flynn's enormous popularity netting her an historic landslide win. There are great public fears, however, that narrower margins will upset the political climate in future elections. How should the candidates change their campaign plans if they know with certainty beforehand which way the voters are going to swing, for instance? Yet we also see that candidates will still run even knowing they are going to lose―often to make some political or moral point with their defeat. Unfortunately, we don't have time to go into the fascinating details in this class.

"There is one positive to be found in this, though: war is essentially meaningless now. Time travel lets the world see the outcome of the fighting, and opens the eyes of the warring sides to the costs going to war will exact. Additionally, using time travel to understand the underlying principles causing the beligerince of each faction allows the UN to remedy the issues before the bloodshed starts." Mr. Mondragon glanced at his watch. "Forgive me, we have to get back on track with the regular class material.

"Now then, can I ask someone to read beginning on page one-sixty-six where it starts, 'After the advent?'" Mr. Mondragon asked. "Ms. Taylor, go ahead."

"After the advent of time travel, one of the most complex social issues that arose was the treatment of human lives lost in accidents. Insurance companies battled in the courts to limit time travel after suffering huge losses when customers could simply use time travel to prevent loss of loved ones, property damages, personal injury, and more. In _Ensurinsure V. United States_ , the Supreme Court overruled Ensurinsure's efforts to block customer cancellations or require payment for any damages averted through the use of time travel. Effectively, insurance services were no longer needed at all, a decisive blow to the industry after it was already hit hard by the rather thorough eradication of automobile accidents due to the mass-scale production of self-driving cars a decade earlier."

"It sucks for anyone who died the day before time travel was invented," interrupted a boy towards the back. A half-dozen students snickered.

As the room broke out in whispered conversations, Mr. Mondragon strictly declared, "If one more person speaks without being called on, you'll all be assigned a 200 word essay," to regain control. There was instant silence.

Another boy raised his hand. "Yes, Mr. Groves?" pointed Mr. Mondragon.

The Groves boy cleared his throat. "When my brother was getting his time machine driver's license for his job―he was delivering pizzas, and they used a time machine to go back in time and deliver the fresh-baked pizzas thirty seconds after the person ordered it―how come he didn't accidentally change the future by, like, stepping on a butterfly, causing a chain of events that would ultimately blow up the world, or something? Couldn't that happen, like, pretty much every time someone goes back in time to change something?"

Marie raised her hand.

"Ms. Flynn, perhaps you would be the most appropriate person to respond to this query," Mr. Mondragon yielded.

"My Dad and Uncle were the ones who wrote the physics books on time travel," Marie said factually. "The first theory of chronodynamics states that all outcomes must abide a self-consistent loop of narrative causality. That means that if Effect B has already happened, then changing Cause A from resulting in Effect B to resulting in Effect C triggers a loop where Effect C must also be Cause D resulting in the eventual return to the result of Effect B. In other words, it's theoretically impossible to change the future."

"Then wouldn't that mean that the people who went back in time to stop someone from dying and stuff _wouldn't be able to stop them from dying,_ since that would be changing the future?" countered Groves.

"Not if, from a future point of view, they had already gone back to stop them from dying."

"That makes no sense!"

"Well, remember that in physics, there is no preferred frame of reference. So the narrative we see, where cause and effect flow in the direction of past to future, isn't necessarily the only frame of reference. Sometimes a frame of reference flowing in the direction from future to past paints a better picture!"

The confused look on Groves' face manifested that that didn't clear anything up for him.

"It's still just a theory, though," she added sheepishly. "For what it's worth, my Mom feels the same way you do. She believes we can control our future. That's why she led the fight to outlaw traveling back to before '43. My Dad thinks physics shows that the law is unnecessary, even though he supported her anyways since it was still a good idea in principle."

Mr. Mondragon spoke up. "Statistically, Mr. Groves, history is on Ms. Flynn's side. There have been-slash-will be millions of time jumps, and not a single one of them changes the future. If there's one thing I want you to take home from today's lesson, it's this: the future is bright and the world is safe. Crime is down to all-time lows, because law enforcement can know when and where a crime will be committed before it happens. Natural disasters, such as the next big earthquake to hit the California coastline, are known well in advance and are adequately prepared for, in many cases they can even be prevented altogether. Economic downturns are likewise planned for, often receiving additional relief sent from future points in the timeline when economies are stronger. Even consider this: you do not need to lose any sleep worrying over climate change or nuclear war as your parents and grandparents did! From studying the history of the future, we now know humanity will prevent and overcome all these crises, so do not count on any of these working as reasons not to do your homework!" A hand went up in the center of the class. "Go ahead, Ms. Mooney."

"It kind of sounds like fate," a girl with midnight-blue hair dye said, mystically. "Or destiny."

"We'll leave it to the philosophers to decide on what this all means regarding the state of our free will," Mr. Mondragon said with a shrug. At that moment, the bell rang. "In the meantime," he added quickly, "please read the rest of the chapter before our next class, and have a good day!"

PJ moved closer to Marie while the bustling students grabbed their things and exited the classroom. Marie flipped her bag over her shoulder as she stood and joined the crowd, the platypus at her side. "That was probably the best history class I've ever had," Marie said. "Isn't time travel fascinating?"

"That isn't exactly the word I would pick," he replied thoughtfully.

* * *

When school got out and Marie had finished chatting with her friends, PJ led her to a flying car with a US Government issued license plate. After they were safely inside and the vehicle's autonav had charted out its course, PJ allowed himself to relax on the comfy leather seats.

"What about you?" Marie asked him from his side. "What was it like for you?"

"What was what like for me?" he asked, having apparently missed the reference nested in her pronoun.

"Time traveling! Duh!"

"It was a job, Marie. I had to conduct myself professionally."

"What were Mom and Dad like as kids? Were they cool? Or were they―more like they are now?"

"They were―what do you mean, _more like they are now?_ "

Marie giggled.

"Ooh, you better hope I don't tell them you said that!" PJ exclaimed. "When I went back the past to protect them from Suzy Johnson, it was just like how the stories go―Phineas and Ferb were building stuff all the time, and Isabella and Candace and Buford and Baljeet were always around helping and having fun. It was Independence Day, the day I spent with them, and they set up a swimsuit fashion show with robot versions of all the past presidents."

"That's it?" Marie asked. "No rollercoasters? No trampolines on the moon? No ice skaters or sculptures made from cotton candy or hundred-foot tall, rocket-powered swingsets?"

"I guess they didn't always make a brand new rollercoaster _every_ day," admitted PJ.

"Weird. That's not the way Dad makes it sound."

"Well, you know how he always likes to try new things. He'd have probably gotten bored if the only things they ever built as kids were rollercoasters."

Marie nodded. "True." She turned and looked out the window. The ground was fifty feet below. Traffic zones were organized by varying levels of elevation―slower moving vehicles remained closer to the ground, faster moving zones were much higher above the city.

"What about the future?" she asked. "Have you ever been there?"

PJ shook his head. "No. There's nothing for me there." He sighed softly, then added the next part as a quiet afterthought. "No reason for me to leave this time."

Marie shot him a sideways glance. She recognized that same, lonely look on his face he used to always have. "PJ, I told you, you don't have to feel alone anymore!"

He realized he had let his emotions show through, and immediately the look was gone. "I'm fine!"

Just then, an idea hit her. Marie snapped her fingers. "I know what you need! PJ, we need to find to find you a nice platypus girlfriend!"

He looked very taken aback at that. "What? No, no!" He did not like the goofy grin she was giving him.

"Yes! That's exactly what you need!" Marie was starting to radiate excitement, ripping through her backpack and pulling out her notebook and a pencil. "Brainstorming time! PJ, what kinds of, er, platypus girls do you like?"

"None! No, we are not doing this!"

"Oh, yes we are!" Marie started scribbling furiously. "Tall ones? Short ones? Medium ones? Blue eyes? Green eyes? C'mon, PJ! You can tell me!" She poked him with her eraser.

"Stop!"

Marie paused and brought her pencil to her chin. "But where would you go to meet platypus―es? Platypi? Platy―whatever." She nibbled on her eraser in thought.

"Marie, I don't need a girlfriend!"

"I could ask Aunty Vanessa to call around the pet shops back home. There are a surprising amount of platypuses in Danville."

"Marie, listen!" PJ snatched the pencil away from her to grab her attention back. "I don't want a girlfriend, okay? It wouldn't be―kosher, I guess."

"Kosher?"

"I mean, a platypus girlfriend wouldn't be someone I could talk to or do anything with. After all, she is a platypus. They don't do much. It'd be like talking to a brick."

"I hadn't thought of it that way," Marie said.

"And while sure, everybody had a crush on Phoebe the Poodle back at OWCA Academy, that was years ago! And I didn't fit in there, either. I've never fit in anywhere except here, in this family. With you and―Mom and Dad." He felt weird calling them that. "Look, thank you for trying, but I just don't think there's someone for me out there. Not like that. It's one of the burdens of being the only talking semi-aquatic mammal in the world."

Marie knew PJ wasn't a fan of touching, so after a moment of watching him (try not to) sulk, she hesitantly put her arm around his shoulders. When he didn't resist, she let it rest there. "Okay, PJ," she said understandingly.

* * *

 _Somewhere in the Appalachian mountains  
_ _The future..._

 _The King battered his way up the overgrown path, and the platypus followed, hot on his trail. A dense patch of thick, green brush with nasty thorns caught at his robes, flaying the expensive gold threads, slowing his movement. He braced against the snag and tugged himself free, tearing his cloak in the process. Onwards he rushed, willing himself to go faster._

 _Pine trees were everywhere, tall and mighty evergreens that blanketed the steep mountain banks. If his long legs were an advantage in flight, it was nullified by the slope he had to climb almost as it were a flight of stairs. Still, the crunching sounds of his pursuer seemed to fall behind. His goal lay just ahead. Only a few more bends in the path to go, if he remembered correctly. He was close, so close to reaching it―_

 _The King burst into a small clearing. The grove of pine trees on the far side towered into the sky. He whipped around, still panting heavily, drawing his Glock. The platypus had to be close. Squinting down the sights, The King scanned for any signs of movement._

 _The platypus darted around the final bend and into view. The King pulled the trigger, flinching as the hammer slammed down on the barrel. He had always been repulsed by the weight of the weapon and by the dirty work of killing things himself, and his lack of training showed. He missed his mark, allowing the platypus to dive behind the cover of a big pine trunk at the edge of the clearing, quite unharmed._

 _Keeping the gun aimed at the base of the tree, The King backed away slowly. The platypus peeked around the left side of the trunk. He fired two more bullets into the tree to force him to retreat again behind it._

" _You know, usually, this is the part where the bad guy starts to monologue," the platypus said. "Telling me about their evil plan, about how their tragic backstory set them on a path inevitably leading them along to this very moment."_

 _The King cautiously took another step back._

 _The platypus peeked around the tree again. He fired one more round into the tree, but this time the platypus swooped out at unbelievable speed, close to the ground and practically on all fours. The King got off two more rounds before a beaver tail swiped across his hand, slapping the gun out of his grasp and knocking it clear across the grove._

 _A barrage of punches landed on The King, packing far more power than their deceptively small fists seemed capable of unleashing. The King felt himself keel over in pain, and he face planted into the ground. He spit a clod of dirt out of his mouth while his arms were wrenched behind his back and snapped into restraints. The platypus stood on his shoulder triumphantly. "Your Conspirium is no more," he sneered._

 _Only a few paces away, The King watched unnoticed, quite hidden by the trunk of another majestic pine, as his time-clone was cuffed by the platypus. His likeness was surely humiliated beyond degree, as he was led on a leash like a dog by the platypus back down the path they had just come up. Waiting until they were well out of earshot, The King finally stepped out into the clearing and approached the digital tree his other self had been striving to reach._

 _He placed the palm of his hand against the bark, and the digital illusion vanished to be replaced by a biometric scanner and pale blue door. Also materializing was the outline of a tiny shed, the entrance to the Conspirium's secret underground bunker. When the scanner recognized his prints, it hissed softly and the door slid open, letting the soft glow of the interior lights shine on him. He regally paced down the steps to where his time machine awaited, stepped into its chair, and with the press of a button, he disappeared._

 _He arrived back in his present. The blonde, golden curls of his first lieutenant, Suzy Johnson, were covering her face as she kneeled before him. "Welcome back, My King," she greeted. "What did you learn this time?"_

" _We are close," he said in return, emerging from the vehicle. "The final plan is nearly in place. However, the platypus is still causing us problems."_

 _Suzy's reverent gaze turned into a frown as she listened to him explain what had happened._

" _I think it is time we eradicated him once and for all," The King said as he swept his flowing robes out of the way to sit down on his golden throne. "This, I leave to you."_

 _Suzy bowed her head. "As you wish, My King." With that, she swiftly rose and exited the room._

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Let me just start by saying time travel is OP. There's simply no way around it. Believe me, I really wanted to set up some strict rules about time travel for this story as a way to nerf it. The thing is, I also have to accept the way time travel is treated in the episodes _It's About Time!_ and _Quantum Boogaloo_ from the show as canon, so my beautifully elegant ruleset for time traveling will just have to wait for another story. So just like how the way the show treats time travel is sort of inconsistent at times, I'm afraid this story will be, too. It's just the hand I was dealt by those particular episodes. (Same goes for some of my creative choices from way back in Despotism. I remember that a couple of reviewers more or less pointed that out back in the day.) Hopefully it won't be too much of an issue for you guys, or at least that this story will still be engaging despite its imperfections. Thanks for reading!**

 **Guest review response:**

 **Hey, Derek the Stuntbat! I finally caught you! Or, you finally caught me? Whatever the case, thanks for the reviews! I've enjoyed all of them that you've left, including those for some of my older stories. I'm really glad that some people out there appreciate my stuff. I worked hard on it, after all! Enjoy your retirement from flying through hoops!**


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Headquarters, Department of Homeland Security  
Washington, D.C.  
September 21, 2049

Every morning when he arrived at his office, PJ couldn't help but grin smugly at the knowledge that he had inherited the floorspace made vacant by the swift exit of one "Detective" Markus Douglas, the Conspirium's mole in the Department of Homeland Security, and the man who interrogated him when Suzy tricked the CIA into arresting him earlier that summer. Douglas apparently had quietly slipped away along with Suzy when PJ revealed the Conspirium's presence to the world. As with Suzy, his current whereabouts were unknown, although PJ hoped he wounded up getting eaten by a shark, or something.

Taking his seat, PJ flicked on his computer screen and laid his paw against the security panel to confirm his identification. After a brief scan, the monitor blinked and began to glow in the green colors of his homescreen. He tapped an app on the screen to bring up the newsfeed and scanned some of the morning's headlines.

" _Country's last 'drive-thru' supermarket in Waco, TX closes its lanes."_

" _Anthropomorphic hedgehog robs convenience store, outruns police drones."_

" _Geneva protest against pollution produced from time machine radiation gains steam."_

" _Robbie Grayson, country singer and superstar, shaves beard, donates it."_

" _President Flynn congratulates, offers support to Fireside girl who earned 100 patches while fighting cancer."_

" _More controversy surrounding NFL androids using performance-enhancing polymers."_

" _Recall issued for vegan bacon, shortage leads many to time jump to next month."_

In PJ's experience, people could generally be split into three groups. There were those who didn't check the news anymore―a large portion of this demographic included the millions of people who spent the majority of their lives in the virtual reality of their Experience Wall. Then there were those who mainly viewed news broadcasts concerning future dates, since major networks now had a catalogue of all their coverage of every day's news posted many hundreds of years into the future, a massive database of information that could be perused online. And finally there were those few traditionalist souls who still watched today's newscasts, as if they wanted to avoid any spoilers about the future. PJ considered himself a realist, so he would both catch up on today's news and get a few days ahead when appropriate and as the need for certain specific information required. If only finding Suzy Johnson were so easy as checking the future news, but somehow she had managed to disappear completely from the timeline. Even with access to time travel, the news still wasn't perfect.

The hedgehog headline interested PJ enough to swipe it past the right side of his screen. The Experience Wall to his right immediately jumped to life and played the video hologram recordings for the story.

"Last night, a convenience store in Sacramento was robbed by an anthropomorphic hedgehog," an attractive reporter named Kathy Thorne explained. "Witnesses say that although police forces sent drones back in time to catch the crook in the act, the drones―which were manufactured to confront and incapacitate human lawbreakers―proved insufficient to handle a much smaller, more agile type of criminal."

"It was like watching a brick try to catch a cheetah," a witness told the microphone that was being held to their chin.

"These talking, anthropomorphic animals are living on the streets," said another, "and they don't have any education, they don't have jobs, and so they turn to crime. It's just sad."

"It's times like these that I am grateful there are no anthropomorphic animals living in my community," said a third witness.

The reporter returned to occupy the fullness of the 3D projection. "Fortunately, no one was hurt, and the only―"

PJ had silenced the broadcast with an angry snap of his fingers. "Stupid people," he growled, "did it ever occur to you that maybe we can't get any jobs because of _your_ discriminating, egotistical, condescending―"

There was a knock on his door, cutting PJ off before he could cuss.

He took a deep breath. "Come in."

Eliot walked in. "Hey boss," he said. "Here's the completed file report on all the Conspirium prisoners we captured and on all the evidence that we impounded from Friday's raid on the warehouse." He tapped a cube onto PJ's desk. PJ motioned a swipe from his monitor to the cube, and it instantly began downloading the data.

"Thanks."

"While you were out yesterday, we also made the last of the prisoner interrogations."

"How'd it go? Wait, let me guess. Nobody talked."

Eliot nodded. "You got it. These Conspirium chumps are hard as steel to break. Literally. I mean, not _literally,_ but, you know what I mean."

PJ sighed. Before the raid on the compound last week, they had managed to capture a handful of Conspirium spies, including a highly publicized affair last month where they arrested the newly inducted Supreme Court justice. (Justice Bensen had been appointed by President Flynn herself, under the influence of Suzy Johnson it had turned out, shocking the nation.) Once arrested, it was always the same. They never spoke a word about the Conspirium's plans, having sworn a secret oath to never reveal them to the United States government. Nobody on PJ's force, or anywhere else in the CIA, FBI, or Department of Homeland Security, had been able to get anything out of them.

"You ever see those old movies where they use the whole 'good cop, bad cop' routine? I wish we could do something like that," Eliot offered. "You'd be the good cop, and then _I'd_ be the bad cop. Smashing noses, busting chairs, doing the thing where you go, ' _Hiahh!'_ And then they go, ' _Wyeeeh!'_ And then you go, ' _Hrogh!'_ " Eliot gesticulated with some elaborate fist movements to demonstrate.

PJ wasn't listening. He was scanning the files he had just downloaded, and something had caught his eye. "Eliot," he said, interrupting his agent's little spree of violence, "what about this one?" He pointed at the screen.

Eliot came around his desk to look. "That's the ugly booger I caught with his pants down. Literally!"

"His polygraph scanners show his blood pressure and perspiration rates were higher than the others'," PJ said.

"Hmm, yeah, I guess they were," Eliot agreed. "Still, he didn't say a word during the entire interrogation, just like the others."

"I know, but he may be the closest to breaking. It looks like he might crack under just a little more pressure." PJ started for the door. "Let's sit this guy back down in the hot seat."

"Already on it, boss," replied Elliot, pressing a finger against his earpiece.

* * *

"Stacey Galvin, white male, 23 years old, 5'10", 151 lbs," PJ muttered, reading the prisoner's file. Galvin could be seen through the one-way window sitting alone, staring at his hands, which were resting on the table. PJ was reviewing all their intel as well as the recordings from Galvin's previous interrogation. Ramirez had joined PJ and Eliot in the viewing room to watch. "Lives in Albany. Was bullied a lot in middle and high school," he continued, "only job history is a string of short-lived minimum wage gigs, all of which he quit or was fired from in a matter of weeks."

"Spends most of his time in virtual reality," Ramirez finished for him. "Most of his digital transactions are for first-person shooters. We think that's where he was recruited by the Conspirium―online."

"And he has irritable bowel syndrome," snickered Eliot.

"Grow up," interjected Ramirez.

"How long ago was his last questioning?" PJ asked Ramirez.

"It was yesterday morning, around 11 o'clock."

"Think he's had enough time to simmer?"

All three looked at the prisoner. His complexion was pale and he had a thin frame. His curly, greasy brown hair looked like it hadn't been washed or trimmed in a while. "He looks like he's already starting to sweat," decided Eliot. "Want me to have a go at him?"

PJ waited a full five seconds before he nodded. "Okay, Eliot, but we are not doing the 'good cop, bad cop' routine."

"C'mon, boss, you can trust me!"

PJ and Ramirez watched Eliot let himself in the room through the one-way window. Galvin didn't even glance up.

Rather than take a seat in the empty chair across from Galvin, Eliot sat on the corner of the metal table with a leg hanging over the edge and the other foot on the ground, slightly intruding on Galvin's personal space. "So, Mr. Galvin, I am Jonathan Eliot. Wait―is that right? Galvin? That's a weird name, do you mind if I just call you Stacey? Huh, Stacey?"

Ramirez groaned at PJ's side and started to rub her temple.

Eliot stood and started to pace. "Well, Stacey, before we get started here, I just gotta ask, just one thing. Do you think these shoes bring out my eyes very well? I mean, I'm just asking, one guy to another, one bro to another, because I kind of like the mahogany inseams, but the black leather vamps are supposed to be shined, and I sort of think they'd look good with a little more wear, you know?"

"What is he doing?" Ramirez whispered sharply.

Galvin, for the first time, lifted his eyes from the table to give Eliot a very weird look.

"Sorry, it's just that I'm gay," Eliot said, "so, you know, stereotypes. I like outfits and shoes and stuff. But that's neither here nor there. Anyways…" Eliot waved his hand nonchalantly and sat in the empty seat. "The Conspirium. They're some naughty, naughty people, Stacey. And they are where we found you. So that makes you a naughty boy, Stacey. Yes, very naughty." He was leaning in uncomfortably close.

"Oh my gosh, this is so embarrassing," Ramirez said. "Eliot is such an idiot. Why is he pretending to be gay?"

At that point, Eliot leaned back, away from Galvin, and crossed his legs in front of himself. "You know, Stacey, I've been reading your file, and I feel like we have a connection. You may not feel it yet, but I do. That's why I want what's best for you. And right now, what's best for you is to tell me what you know about the Conspirium." Eliot started to lean in close again. "C'mon, Stacey, you can tell me."

Galvin still had not said a word, but PJ noticed his face was starting to turn red.

"Oh my gosh," Ramirez whispered again, this time, with noticeably more awe. "Eliot is an idiot, but it's working!"

"C'mon, Stacey," Eliot continued to soothe. "Stacey, Stacey, Stacey…"

"STOP CALLING ME THAT!" Galvin exploded.

Eliot didn't seem to flinch under the glare Galvin gave him. PJ and Ramirez glanced at each other.

"What would you like me to call you, then?" Eliot asked, politely.

Galvin was breathing heavily from his outburst and broke eye contact first. "Stacey is a girl's name," he finally uttered. "I only go by 'darkxkillerangel,' my Wallname."

Eliot leaned back and clasped his hands on the table in front of him, looking serious. "darkxkillerangel, then, are you going to tell me what I want to know?"

Galvin shook his head. Eliot stood up. "Why don't I give you some time to think about it?" With that, he turned and paced out the door.

Two seconds later, he slung his way back into the viewing room. "And the award goes to―" he said, raised both arms in the air, and followed up his sentence fragment with a chorus of mock cheering and whistling. Ramirez groaned, and Eliot positioned his body in front of hers before he began to dance in place energetically.

"Yeah, good job, you proved you really can annoy anyone," Ramirez barked, shoving him bodily away when his gyrating got too close to her. "And for the record, if you think that's how gay men act, you are way off."

"Get a hold of yourself, girl!" he answered, recovering his balance. "There is plenty of the Great Jonny Eliot to go around!" He winked at her before taking a seat, leaning back and resting the back of his head against his interlocked fingers. "I could tell just by looking at him that he's homophobic. And it worked!"

"Don't celebrate too much yet," PJ commanded. "We got him to speak, but we still don't have any new information on the Conspirium or Suzy Johnson."

"Relax, we got this in the bag! I have an idea, boss, and if we can pull it off, we'll have this kid spilling the beans like a tiny little chihuahua biting into a Schlocko's Tacos gargantuan burrito. Literally!"

"And what is your plan?"

Eliot grinned.

* * *

"No! No! I am not doing that!"

"Aw, c'mon, boss!" Eliot protested. "This kid's a real entitled punk! Going around, asking everyone to call him ' _dork's killer angel,'_ his Experience Wall gamer name? He's probably spent so much time in virtual reality he literally thinks half the games he plays are real life!"

"Look, you can go and embarrass yourself, pretending to be gay to freak him out, but I will not be joining in on the self-embarrassment ride today!"

"You won't embarrass yourself! You'll be a bad-a―" Eliot glanced at Ramirez and checked his language. "―I mean, the bad cop! It'll be great! Let's scare him so much we make him pee his pants!"

"No, Eliot, I am not doing this! No way!"

* * *

"This is so stupid," PJ muttered to himself, as he clambered into the cage.

"You'll do great!" Eliot reassured him. "Just act really crazy and be as frightening as you can."

Eliot pushed the cart PJ's cage was loaded on up to the door, opened it, and entered. Galvin looked up immediately this time.

PJ hurriedly got down on all fours, crossed his eyes, furrowed his brows, and started to spin in slow circles inside his cage, as if looking for something. Like maybe his sanity.

"What is that thing?" Galvin asked, scooting back in his chair.

"That," Eliot said proudly, "is a rabid platypus."

"Look, I don't know anything, all right?"

Eliot ignored that. "Did you know that if left untreated, rabies is the most deadly virus on the planet? If the infected isn't vaccinated quickly, the fatality rate is over 99.9%." He lifted the cage off the cart and set it, including PJ, on the table. Galvin was leaning as far back as he could. "The most recognizable symptom in rabid animals is, of course, the drooling."

PJ started drooling on cue.

"Other signs an animal is rabid include aggression and hyperactivity," explained Eliot. PJ started gnawing on a bar to keep up the act. The metallic taste wasn't unpleasant, even if it was a little gross.

"Have you ever wondered why rabies makes them drool?" Eliot asked. "The rabies virus attacks the brain's network of neurons, imbedding a fear of water into the host so deeply that it won't even swallow its own saliva. It's an evolutionary mechanism, on behalf of the virus. Rabies propagates in the salivary glands, making the most convenient way of transmitting the disease through biting and getting its saliva into the bloodstream."

The color had drained out of Galvin's face. "Please, get that thing out of here! I don't know what the Conspirium is planning! I don't know where Suzy Johnson is!"

"But the virus will kill the host mammal before it dies of dehydration," concluded Eliot, as if Galvin were not there. "After the onset of symptoms, even vaccination has no effect, and the host almost always dies. So for the virus to spread, the animal has a limited time to find another victim to bite. It's nature's ticking clock."

PJ lunged at the side of the cage closest to Galvin, rattling the table.

"I swear, I can't tell you anything, I swear!" Galvin was straining at the handcuffs holding him to the table. "Please! No, don't!"

Eliot reached for the pin lock. Galvin was screaming bloody murder.

"NO! DON'T! I'll tell you, alright! I'll tell you!"

Holding back a smirk, Eliot paused with his hand on the lock, and gave Galvin his undivided attention.

Galvin's face shone under a layer of sweat. "Suzy Johnson came and visited the warehouse a couple of days before you guys found us. I overheard her talking about something, I can't remember what, though—"

Eliot rotated his eyes back towards the cage door.

"Wait, no, it's coming!" Galvin squealed. "It was, um, something about—come on, think! She said—Cincinnati! Yes, that was it! Something about Cincinnati, and a club, and a gala!"

"Is Suzy Johnson in Cincinnati?" Eliot asked.

"I don't know, I swear!"

Eliot looked the prisoner over once more. Then, he pulled the pin completely out.

PJ flew out of the cage at Galvin, who was screaming. PJ grabbed him by the collar. After a delay, Galvin realized he hadn't been bitten yet, and timidly silenced his scream. PJ looked him in the eyes, his beak almost touching Galvin's nose. "Thank you," the platypus said simply, releasing his collar.

Galvin stared incredulously before his eyes glossed over and his head flopped back against the chair. He had fainted.

* * *

"That was awesome!" Eliot roared exuberantly once they were back outside the interrogation room. "Did you see that, Ramirez? I think we actually did make the guy pee his pants!"

Ramirez had just exited the viewing room to join them. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm actually impressed, Eliot. Where did you learn so much about rabies?"

"You don't know everything about me," he replied.

"Alright, let's focus, people," PJ said, directing the two down the hall. "I want the city of Cincinnati searched for any signs of Suzy Johnson. Check everything we can: traffic recordings, audio command logs, e-credit transactions, you know the drill. Check clubs and bars first. If they even have just a security camera, I want that footage scanned!"

"Yes, sir!"

"And find out what galas are being held in the area," PJ added. "If Suzy Johnson shows her face anywhere, I want us to be there yesterday!"

"Literally!" Eliot exclaimed.

* * *

Dee, Struct, and Ives LLC Law Firm  
St. Louis, Missouri  
September 21, 2049

The vast conference room located on the 39th floor of the third-tallest building in St. Louis overlooks the mighty Mississippi River and the iconic Gateway Arch the city is known for. Its east-facing, four-inch thick windows stretch nearly floor to ceiling, offering some of the best views money can buy as a backdrop when the rich and powerful meet there to discuss business.

At first, the room was empty, until all at once a door opened and it filled with people. There was not a lot of talking—most noises were the scraping of chair wheels on carpet, the shuffling of coats and electronics, the occasional cough or clearing of the throat. Most of the occupants were dressed in business suits. Some were more casual.

The final person to enter the conference room was The King. His robes were cinnamon-red velvet and dangled to just above the floor. The King took his seat at the head of the table, and Suzy Johnson sat at his right hand. Immediately, all eyes were on him.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen," he began. "Before we start, we should like to recognize our newest member: Zekiel, welcome to the Conspirium." The King locked eyes with a black man at the end of the table. The man wore the most casual clothes out of everyone in the room, consisting of a baseball cap, multiple piercings, dark jeans, and a sleeveless shirt that showed off his muscular arms, which were covered in tattoos. Zekiel nodded in return.

"Zekiel is the leader of the largest gang on the West Coast, and has contributed a substantial sum to our cause," summarized The King. "Antonio, I expect the two of you to cooperate, as we are all family here."

The most feared mafia leader in the entire Eastern Seaboard, Antonio, dressed in an expensive suit, extracted his cigar from his mouth. "If you say 'e's family, 'e's family. Welcome, brothuh."

Zekiel huffed back.

"Excellent," motioned The King. "Now then, to business! We are days away from commencing operations on Phase One. Senator Cash, how do our supporters in Congress look?"

"I have made a deal with Senator Delitzsch, a compromise of sorts, and in return for my favor, his vote will swing three other senators, ensuring the legislation will have a majority."

"Excellent," repeated The King. "David, what do you have to report?"

"The bombs are ready," said a short, balding man with thick glasses. "Antonio's crew are handling the logistics, and providing the ICBMs. They will be ready to fire at your command."

"Then it appears we have everything in place," noted The King. "Our media contact, Shawn Wisksfromaneyebrow, is likewise prepared to sway public opinion in favor of the Conspirium. Only one final piece has yet to be put in place. Zekiel, that will be your job."

"Name it."

"You have a talent for sparking anarchy. I need you to do this on the biggest scale of all: Washington D.C. With your help, we are going to topple this nation's government."

Zekiel sat up straighter. "Sounds like I'm your guy."

Satisfied, The King smiled. "Antonio will bring you up to speed on the details. As for the rest of you," The King's emerald green eyes swept across the room, "you all know what you have to do. Once America has fallen, I will become King, and you will all have your seats as governors and judges over your parcels of the continent, ruling under my authority. We will have our rights restored, and our destinies will finally be fulfilled. To the Conspirium!" He raised the diamond and emerald studded scepter held in his right hand.

"The Conspirium!" A chorus rang around the table. With that, everyone stood to leave.

"Antonio," The King asked, and the mob boss waited behind until the room emptied. "Do you have a couple of men to spare?"

"Of course," he replied.

"Suzy here has need of a few—what did you call them?"

"Meatheads," said Suzy.

"Forgive my asking, ma'am, but what do you need 'em for?"

Suzy wore a distant look. "Let me answer that by asking you a question. How do you kill someone for good, someone very important, if someone can always just travel back in time to save them?"

Antonio didn't have a quick answer. "If only I knew."

The dark look that crossed the face of Suzy Johnson gave him the willies.

* * *

Headquarters, Department of Homeland Security  
Washington, D.C.  
September 21, 2049

"Hey Boss, you should take a look at this," Tui hollered from across the office. PJ's entire team had been been searching for any tips or leads on Suzy Johnson in Cincinnati since morning, and so far, they had turned up nothing.

PJ pattered over to Tui's desk. "What is it?"

"I think we've been looking in the wrong place this whole time." Tui rolled back his chair and swiveled the monitor to project PJ's way.

It displayed an announcement card written in bright, bold lettering. PJ read the large print.

 _To celebrate the new discovery of an original letter written by the hand of George Washington, the Cincinnati Society will be holding this year's gala in the Capitol Building, Auditorium C, on September 25, 2049. Dinner will be at 7 p.m., the unveiling of the letter is at 8._

"This clipping was in last week's news," Tui explained.

"What is the Cincinnati Society?" PJ asked.

Tui typed a few keys. "Some sort of secret society, I guess. Dedicated to preserving the principles of, and public interest in, the Revolutionary War. Membership is hereditary and patriarchal."

By now, the rest of the team were all crowding up to the screen. "Not another blasted secret society," whined Eliot.

"Okay," said PJ, "but what connection does Suzy Johnson have to the Cincinnati Society?"

"I think I know." Tui hit another key. The screen scrolled down. PJ read along on the monitor as Tui read it out loud for the others. "Several members of Congress will be in attendance at the gala, and President Isabella Flynn will be attending as a special guest speaker."

PJ cursed under his breath. "Suzy is planning another attack on President Flynn!"


	6. Chapter 5

**Hello, readers! Thank you for continuing to support me and this story. So, as you all probably know, we were just recently graced with a guest appearance by our favorite characters from P &F in the MML crossover! Due to the nature of the time travel-y plot of the episode, I find it expedient to remind us all that in this story, nothing from Milo Murphy's Law is considered canon. I don't think it will be a very big problem, but any similarities between this story and The Phineas and Ferb Effect are purely coincidental - unless I flatter myself by imagining that I really am that good at prognosticating future ideas and jokes that might be used in either show! Anyways, I hope you enjoy the next chapter!**

* * *

Chapter 5

 _Somewhere in the Appalachian mountains  
_ _The future..._

 _The King battered his way up the overgrown path, and the platypus followed, hot on his trail. A dense patch of thick, green brush with nasty thorns caught at his robes, flaying the expensive gold threads, slowing his movement. He braced against the snag and tugged himself free, tearing his cloak in the process. Onwards he rushed, willing himself to go faster._

 _Pine trees were everywhere, tall and mighty evergreens that blanketed the steep mountain banks. If his long legs were an advantage in flight, it was nullified by the slope he had to climb almost as it were a flight of stairs. Still, the crunching sounds of his pursuer seemed to fall behind. His goal lay just ahead. Only a few more bends in the path to go, if he remembered correctly. He was close, so close to reaching it―_

 _The King burst into a small clearing. The grove of pine trees on the far side towered into the sky. He whipped around, still panting heavily, drawing his Glock. The platypus had to be close. Squinting down the sights, The King scanned for any signs of movement._

 _The platypus darted around the final bend and into view. The King pulled the trigger, flinching as the hammer slammed down on the barrel. He had always been repulsed by the weight of the weapon and by the dirty work of killing things himself, and his lack of training showed. He missed his mark, allowing the platypus to dive behind the cover of a big pine trunk at the edge of the clearing, quite unharmed._

 _Keeping the gun aimed at the base of the tree, The King backed away slowly. The platypus peeked around the left side of the trunk. He fired two more bullets into the tree to force him to retreat again behind it._

" _You know, usually, this is the part where the bad guy starts to monologue," the platypus said. "Telling me about their evil plan, about how their tragic backstory set them on a path inevitably leading them along to this very moment."_

 _The King cautiously took another step back._

 _The platypus peeked around the tree again. He fired one more round into the tree, but this time the platypus swooped out at unbelievable speed, close to the ground and practically on all fours. The King got off two more rounds before a beaver tail swiped across his hand, slapping the gun out of his grasp and knocking it clear across the grove._

 _This time, The King was ready. He ducked down and used his long legs to sweep the platypus' webbed feet out from under him, sending him tumbling to the ground. He tried to kick the animal, but missed as he rolled out of reach. The platypus pushed himself up and charged again, aiming a blow at The King's sternum. The King was too slow to dodge, absorbing the full force of the blow and knocking him back on his heels._

 _The platypus leapt in the air to deliver a vicious kick, and The King was just able to get his bearings in time to duck. He spotted the conveniently located branch just within reach, and snatched it as the platypus turned to face him once more._

 _Lifting the branch to strike, The King swung mightily at his foe. The platypus sidestepped to dodge the attack. Moving the more quickly, the platypus was able to leap on top of the branch and pin it beneath his weight, leaving The King without a weapon._

 _A barrage of punches landed on The King, packing far more power than their deceptively small fists seemed capable of unleashing. The King felt himself keel over in pain to face plant into the ground, making him spit dirt out of his mouth while his arms were craned behind his back and snapped into restraints. The platypus stood on his shoulder triumphantly. "Your Conspirium is no more," he sneered._

 _Only a few paces away, The King watched unnoticed, quite hidden by the trunk of another majestic pine, as his time-clone was cuffed by the platypus. It was clear to him that no matter how many notes he took or how many times he watched his opponent's moves, he simply couldn't match the platypus head-to-head in a fight._

* * *

United States Capitol Building  
Capitol Hill, Washington, D.C.  
September 25, 2049

"I still think this is a bad idea!" PJ repeated, exasperated.

"PJ, I am not canceling my speech at the gala tonight, and that's final!"

PJ shook his head angrily. Isabella could be so stubborn sometimes. For as long as he had been on the Secret Service, he'd had to deal with it.

"Look, PJ," Phineas said, "we'll have the Secret Service, you, and your team there, plus Ferb and I have taken every technological precaution we can think of to make sure Isabella is safe."

"And if anything goes wrong," interjected Isabella, "we can always use time travel to go back and warn ourselves of what Suzy is planning. Our future selves haven't appeared to do so yet, so chances are it's nothing we can't handle."

Taking a deep breath, PJ sighed. "The President of the United States always gets what she wants."

"Yes. Yes, she does." Phineas and Isabella intoned in unison.

"Jynx! You owe me a soda!" exclaimed Phineas.

Ignoring her husband, the President added, "Besides, we've been waiting for months for Suzy to show herself. This is a risk worth taking if it means we can flush her out."

"Okay," PJ had reluctantly agreed. That was how it happened this morning. Now, as he waited in a saferoom inside the Capitol Building with Isabella, Phineas, Ferb, and Vanessa, he was still on edge.

He reminded himself that at least Marie was safe back at the White House. While Ferb and Vanessa had teleported up to attend the gala, Thomas and Marie were having a movie night, watching _2001: A Space Odyssey,_ if PJ remembered correctly. He didn't care for those really old movies, but Marie loved the science in this one, and Thomas apparently tolerated it, for the musical score, PJ guessed.

Deciding he needed to get rid of some nervous energy, PJ left the room to go check on the patrol schedule for the hundredth time. Coombs and Lee were working surveillance and running face-recognition algorithms to find Suzy faster. Willy and Tui were backup for the security detail and the bouncer. Olsen and Waters were undercover as attendees, the eyes on the ground, as it were; and Ramirez and Eliot were out in the camouflage van, reading satellite images off of thermal scans. PJ didn't trust Eliot not to draw too much attention to himself if he were working inside.

PJ also knew most of the folks on the unit dispatched by the Secret Service tonight, many of them his former coworkers. They had a perimeter of strong men with sharp eyes, highly trained, surrounding the convention hall. They were trained to notice movement, especially of peoples' hands, and to react quickly to potential threats. Isabella's top personal bodyguard was never more than a few feet away whenever she was out in public, a mountain of a man who wore over 25 pounds of kevlar armor under his suit so he could use his body as a shield if the need arose.

There was less than twenty minutes left until dinner would be served. The food was inspected thoroughly for safety and the President's dish was prepared under scrupulous supervision. At precisely two minutes before 7 o'clock, Phineas and Isabella would emerge from the saferoom they were waiting in, to be seated at their table on the hour, exactly. All the men and women protecting Isabella were well armed and well trained. PJ tried his best to relax and focus.

His job was perhaps a bit redundant, yet he had insisted on it. He had reserved himself a seat at the President's table, where he wanted to watch everything that was going on around her. He would be the last line of defense, alongside her personal bodyguards, who would be standing a short distance away. When there were five minutes left before they were to be seated, PJ returned to the waiting room. Isabella's sheer black gown was beautiful, and she wore a pearl necklace. Vanessa was no less stunning in a black dress and fur coat. Phineas and Ferb were each fitted in a modest tux. PJ wore the signature black suit of the Secret Service, but he took out the earpiece so he would look like he were simply wearing a tux at the table.

At last, it was time to go. They were led by Isabella's bodyguards through the wide double doors, gilded with silver and gold enameling, to the auditorium. The large banquet hall was decorated with gold banners draped across the walls, and a dazzling chandelier the size of an elephant lit the room high above. As many as four dozen round tables, seating up to six persons each, were arranged so compactly they were barely navigable. The largest banner at the front of the room read, " _Omnia Reliquit Servare Republicam."_ As they entered, the crowd respectfully rose to their feet and waited until Isabella had taken her seat. Phineas sat next to his wife, while Ferb and Vanessa chose spots opposite them at the circular table. Perry sat to Phineas' other side, in the chair that had a booster seat already waiting for him. One other chair at the table remained unoccupied.

A speaker approached the microphone at the front of the room. "Welcome, everyone," he said, beaming brightly. "I know we're all eager to eat, so let's make this quick! Lance Quail will offer the invocation. Dinner will be served as quickly as our chefs are physically capable; plates will be taken at quarter-till. At 8 o'clock, we will be pleased to hear some brief remarks from the President of the Society of the Cincinnati, Kyle Konig. After which, we will hear from the President of the United States of America, Isabella Flynn. She will be followed by the unsealing of the George Washington letter which was discovered by one of our members, Darren O'Neil, last month. The benediction will be given by Frank Henderson. Finally, we want to take a moment to give a big thanks to you all for coming, and especially to all the people who have worked so hard to make this gala possible. Thank you."

The conductor stepped down and after a brief spout of polite applause, an opening prayer was offered. PJ kept his eyes open and vigilant, no disrespect meant to any higher powers. After the invocation, the food began to be brought out, and a general background din of chatter and clanking silverware slowly grew to fill the room.

"Ferb, 'Nessa!" Isabella addressed, as a waiter lowered a dish in front of her first. "Thanks again for coming!"

Ferb merely nodded. Vanessa spoke. "Sure, it's always nice to get away for a bit."

The rest of the table was now being served. "By the way, how's your father doing, 'Nessa?" asked Isabella.

"Dad's still kicking," Vanessa half-grinned, half-grimaced while she poked a spear of asparagus with her fork. "The nursing home says his kicking problem is getting better, though. He isn't trying to kick every wall, table, or chair he sees, anymore."

"I—must not remember. Where did he pick up his kicking problem again?"

Vanessa sighed. "When he was a small boy back in Gimmelstump, his mother's love was always inexplicably linked to kickball, and even though she passed away years ago, he's still trying to 'kick his way right into her heart,'" she recited, as if from memory after hearing it so many times.

"Aww!" Isabella placed a hand over her chest. "Like the Love Händel song? That's so sweet!"

"Yeah, I guess it is, in my father's own weird, twisted way..." Vanessa drifted off. "His dementia could have taken worse forms."

"Are you still staying in touch with Candace?" Phineas asked.

"Yeah. Jeremy and she are doing fine. They of course just got back from celebrating their thirty-first in the Bahamas. Jeremy seems to be taking the news that his sister turned out to be a traitorous, time-travelling assassin petty well, at least."

"Well, that's good," Phineas said, jovially. "We haven't had a chance to catch up with them since last Christmas."

PJ was the final one to be served. He only half-listened to the conversation, focusing on paying attention to his surroundings. He kept a watchful eye on everything going on in the room, from the people at the neighboring tables to the movement of the waiters and waitresses to the flow of guests in and out the doors at the main entrance. He caught the eye of Coombs a few tables away, who sent him a curt 'so far, so good' nod. Meanwhile, the empty seat next to PJ had also been served a plate of steaming hot food, and he wondered where their host, Kyle Konig, the President of the Cincinnati Society, was.

* * *

A few minutes after dinner had been served, PJ saw an overweight man with a round face and a salt-and-pepper beard and mustache approach the table. In his tweed jacket that mismatched the color of his slacks, he reminded PJ of a college professor. PJ tensed as the man shuffled his way through the tight spaces between tables towards them.

"Ah, Phineas Flynn, what a coincidence seeing you here!" he said once he reached the space behind the empty chair.

Phineas' eyes darted up to see who spoke. "Dr. Turnstead! Oh, good to see you!" He rose to his feet to shake his hand. "And you remember my wife, Isabella?"

"How could I ever forget?" smiled Dr. Turnstead, shaking hands with her in turn. "And I assume this is Ferb Fletcher?"

"Yep, that's my brother and his wife, Vanessa."

"Splendid to meet you, I've heard so much about you!"

"And this is PJ the platypus. Dr. Turnstead was my research advisor as an undergrad," explained Phineas. "This man is a genius!"

"Hardly," Dr. Turnstead humbly shook off. "My greatest contribution to science was having the lucky draw of mentoring a student who went on to receive five Nobel prizes by his forty-fourth birthday."

"But only three of them were in physics," Phineas clarified.

The professor took the empty seat, and PJ forced himself to relax next to the intruder. "If I may, I wanted to ask your opinion on some of my latest research," he stated, "and Mr. Fletcher, I'd appreciate your input on this subject as well."

"Sure," Phineas quickly agreed, "what have you got for us?"

"I have been experimenting with mixing Pizzazium Infinionite with Cutetonium under high pressure isothermal conditions, resulting in a plasma-state substance that gives off large amounts of energy but produces less than a trillionth of a Becquerel of dangerous radiation." Dr. Turnstead was making circuitous shapes with his hands.

Phineas' eyes widened. "That sounds like it could work as an alternative time machine fuel source!"

His former teacher nodded. "That's the idea. It could eliminate time machine radiation pollution. However, the problem is that the reaction is only spontaneous at extremely high temperatures, on the order of a million degrees Fahrenheit. That doesn't make it too viable as a fuel source."

Phineas put his hand to his chin in thought. "And I assume you tried putting the reactants under pressure to decrease the temp threshold?"

"Yes, that was our first idea. At around ten thousand kilobars, the reaction point drops down to only one hundred thousand degrees."

Phineas clicked his tongue. "Hm, that isn't much of an improvement. Ferb, do you have any ideas?"

The green-haired Brit shrugged his shoulders.

"Our best bet at this point is finding a potential catalyst that doesn't react with the cutetonium, causing it to―"

"Causing it to decay into its constituent parts of cuteacetic acid and cesium triphosphate," Phineas finished for him. "Yeah, that would be bad."

"You can appreciate that my lab doesn't feel like financing a thousand different trials that could all end in an explosion big enough to demolish the science building at Tri-State State, just to find a working catalyst." Dr. Turnstead guffawed loudly. "And it goes without saying that Pizzazium Infinionite is too scarce to ever truly replace our current fuels, so with all pretense of practicality lost, the experiment will be shut down if we can't find another solution soon."

"You could ask Baljeet if he could run catalyst simulations on his quantum computer," Isabella suggested. "His models were able to predict the behavior of the supercritical neutron soup in the cores of white dwarfs."

"Isabella, that's a great idea!" Phineas turned to beam proudly at his wife. "Yes, Dr. Turnstead, I could hook you up with our good friend, Dr. Baljeet!"

The professor was impressed. "Madame President, I had no idea you were so intimately familiar with cutting-edge science!"

"Most people don't realize that I triple-majored in chemistry and biology along with political science," she grinned.

Dr. Turnstead stroked his beard between his thumb and forefinger. "If you don't mind my asking, with such a scientific background, what made you push for the legislation against time traveling to the past, to before 2043?"

"Just in case," she dodged coyly.

* * *

"How _do_ you kill somebody if someone can just go back in time to save them?" asked Meathead #1. Suzy didn't care enough to even try to remember their names, not when all three of the men walking behind her equally stupid, muscular, and ugly.

"The same way you kill someone as always, while making sure nobody actually _does_ go back in time to save them," she said over her shoulder.

"But this is the freaking President of the United States we're talking about here!" Meathead #2 keenly pointed out. "Doesn't the President have a whole bunch of people who are paid to do that kind of stuff?"

* * *

"Aba―" stammered Dr. Turnstead, taken aback by Isabella's firm response. "I daresay, I hardly need to remind you that it was―" he gestured between Phineas and Ferb, "―these two who discovered the first three Laws of Chronodynamics."

"The first three _theories_ of chronodynamics," Isabella corrected. "They haven't been proven."

Phineas held out his spoon to interrupt. "Isabella and I have talked about this a hundred times, Dr. Turnstead, and it's really just best if we―"

"All outcomes must abide a self-consistent loop of narrative causality," he quoted over Phineas. "Hundreds of peer reviewed studies show this to be the case, again and again and again. The flow of nature has a very defined chronological structure that we can't seem to permanently change, no matter what choices we go back and alter."

"And what is it, Dr. Turnstead, that you want to go back in time before 2043 so badly to do?" Isabella asked.

* * *

"Yeah," said Meathead #1. "The Secret Service has a whole armada of time machines. They'll send somebody back to stop us, zip, zap, zoop."

"They won't," Suzy stated, "because my strategy has all the subtlety of a mosquito."

"What does 'subtlety' mean?"

"It means they won't even know we were ever there."

* * *

"Well, for me personally," said Dr. Turnstead carefully, "even with all the scientific progress we have made and will make in the future, there are still some puzzles that science hasn't solved. If it were up to me, I would use a time machine to get all of history's greatest scientific geniuses and inventors together in one room and see if they can crack some of them. Guys like Leonardo Da Vinci, Isaac Newton, Galileo, Einstein, Phineas and Ferb, you get the idea."

"Scientific problems like what?"

"Well, wormhole stabilization, for instance. We still don't know what happens inside of black holes. We still don't know what caused the Big Bang, either. We may never know, but assembling the A-listers of humanity's all-time greatest thinkers is our best shot."

"And you feel that this is worth the chance that we might accidentally reset the timeline, possibly upheaving everything that has happened since or ever will happen?"

"Sure, because the chance of that happening is, as far as we can tell, zero―or next to it," Dr. Turnstead appended. Isabella cocked an eyebrow. "Look," he continued, "take Roberts' and Heinrich's experiment in 2120. They couldn't get their time traveling mice to be able to go back in time and kill their own grandfathers. They proved the Grandfather Paradox obeys the first _'Theory'_ of Chronodynamics, thereby resolving the paradox once and for all. Something always happened to the mice before they could commit parricide. Nature seems to always predicate a particular chronology."

"You're taking an example from a paper that, if I remember correctly, was condemned by the scientific board of the time for its unethical treatment of the mice," Isabella countered.

"Wow, you do know your stuff," huffed Dr. Turnstead to himself.

"Not only that," Isabella continued, "but last time I checked, mice aren't humans. It will take more than a computer chip malfunction or a bout of flu or an unanticipated chemical imbalance in the brain to stop a human determined to upset the timeline, all things that confounded the results of that particular study."

"They only confound the results if you are assuming the first _'Theory'_ of Chronodynamics is untrue. Which, last time _I_ checked, most physicists don't."

Isabella, rather than immediately answer back, simply smiled as she chewed and swallowed the last bite of her dinner. "You know, Dr. Turnstead, there is at least one other well known puzzle that science has not yet been able to fully figure out."

Dr. Turnstead frowned. "And that is?"

* * *

"How to shrink down to the microscopic level," Suzy read aloud, for the benefit of the brutes who admitted they weren't so good at it. "Step one, enter the shrinking capsule and put on your seat belts. Step two, push the button that reads 'Shrink.' That will be the red one." She glanced at Meathead #1 to make sure he understood.

Meathead #1 turned to Meathead #2 once they were strapped in. "Do you have the poison?"

"I got it right here." He inserted the flask into the injection apparatus on the control port, then patted it gently.

* * *

"Human behavior," Isabella replied. "It can be reduced to chemistry, certainly. It can be explained by psychology, true. It can even be statistically modeled by biology. But only generally speaking, as in, with populations. An individual's behavior can never be predicted or modeled perfectly by any combination of these, or other, scientific disciplines. And all it takes is one individual to misuse a time machine to destroy the whole world, or at least everything as we know it."

Shaking his head, the professor was already making more gestures with his hands as if it helped him contain himself while waiting for his turn to speak. "But you're missing the bigger―"

"Dr. Turnstead," interjected Phineas as politely as he could, "you'll never convince her, believe me. If you want to do something about the time travel law, you should try running for president."

That caused him to take a deep sigh and push himself up from the table. "Well, it was very nice chatting with you all," he said, pushing the chair back in as he stood. "I should get back to my own dinner, it's probably getting cold. Good to see you again, Phineas."

"Good to see you too, Dr. Turnstead," replied the redhead.

* * *

The King had just finished padding and prodding his bowtie into the perfect shape when Suzy Johnson called. "We're ready to begin," was all she said. Humming to himself, he glanced one last time at the mirror before walking out of the bathroom and back to the gala. There was President Flynn, seated at the table with her family. He checked his pocket to make sure its contents had not been left behind, then strode up to the table.

"Apologies for my lateness," he said, taking his seat next to the platypus. "A call came in for me, had to take it."

"No problem, Mr. Konig," Phineas Flynn said, ever so cheerfully.

No sooner did The King sit down than some winged creature, smaller than a flea, ejected itself from his trouser cuff and crash landed under the table, completely unnoticed.

* * *

PJ had run a background check on the president of the Cincinnati Society earlier that week. Kyle Konig owned a small but very successful business that helped people research their family history and genealogy. Konig himself was descended from some soldier in the Revolutionary War, one Major John Armstrong, Jr. With his sandy blonde hair and emerald green eyes, the bachelor looked regally young for his almost-forty years. His profile had indicated nothing that connected him with Suzy Johnson except for one item: he was born in the Tri-State Area. It seemed to be a complete coincidence though, his family had moved away when he was barely a toddler. As the Secret Service had already thoroughly checked his person, PJ didn't see much need to be suspicious of him, so he kept his attention on what was happening elsewhere in the room.

Dinner was halfway over, so far without incident. That was not reason enough to let up his vigilance, for there was still ample opportunity for Suzy to make her move. PJ idly munched on his roll and trusted that his team were all doing their parts to guard the President, too.

"So is anybody going to talk about the reason we're here?" Isabella asked the table. "The letter?"

"It's kind of exciting, I guess," Phineas tried to say with his usual gusto. "Even though I could just hop in a time machine to tomorrow if I really wanted to see what it says."

Isabella elbowed him.

"What?" he asked, defensively. "All right, so these antique sorts of things were more my parents' cup of tea than mine."

"Perhaps if there were a rollercoaster involved," suggested Ferb.

"Bro, you said it," replied Phineas with a grin. "Maybe we could use that banner to make a slide, we'd just need to order a few parts…" He trailed off when he saw the look his wife was giving him. "What? You know I'm joking."

"That banner?" Konig asked, jutting a thumb over his shoulder. "The one with the Cincinnati Society motto displayed on it? _Omnia Reliquit Servare Republicam._ 'He left everything to serve the republic.'"

Phineas' face twisted into a rare frown. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean any disrespect."

Konig didn't seem to hear. "It was chosen in reference to the Roman citizen, Lucius Quinctius Cincinnatus. According to legend, in 458 BCE, he was a farmer who answered the call to protect Rome from invaders. He assembled an army and conquered Rome's enemies, then turned around and freely gave up his dictatorial powers, trading in his sword for a plow, all in about two weeks." He paused to take in everyone's looks of surprise. "Oh, don't mind me, I'm just practicing for my speech."

Isabella opened her mouth. "I thought the quote was a reference to George Washington?"

Konig nodded. "The Society of the Cincinnati reveres George Washington so much because he likewise gave up all the power Congress had given him at the end of the Revolutionary War to return home to his farm and a life of peace." He tilted his head and looked at the President. "A lesson, I think, every President of the United States takes to heart?"

"Ever since I was a little girl," Isabella responded, "George Washington has always been a personal hero of mine. His leadership, his military achievements, his convictions, they have always inspired me." She glanced around the table. "That's why I wanted to speak tonight."

"And on behalf of the Cincinnati Society," Konig said, raising his glass with a gleam in his eye, "I thank you for offering."

Everyone at the table jumped when PJ slammed his paw down on the table, knocking over his plate and sending what was left of his food everywhere.

"What the?!" Isabella recoiled, her bodyguard jumping to her side immediately.

PJ was gasping for breath, clutching at his chest. He tried to push himself away from the table, but his arms were like jello.

"PJ, are you okay?" Phineas asked, catching PJ's swaying body. "What's the matter?"

"I―can't―breathe," he managed to say. He glared at his plate. "Food―poisoned!"

Ferb had come around the table and together, he and Phineas lifted PJ out of the chair and laid him on the ground. "Is the food poisoned?" Phineas looked up to the table and asked. Everyone looked at their empty plates with disdain.

"There's no way the food was poisoned," Isabella's bodyguard relayed, while listening through his earpiece. "It was prepared under careful supervision."

"Nobody else is having a reaction," Isabella said, looking around. Some of the nearby tables had vacated as people approached to watch.

"Ma'am, we should get you out of here," the Secret Service agent said, putting his hand around Isabella. She tried resisting.

"No, I'm fine!"

PJ was still choking for air on the floor, clawing at his left shoulder.

"He looks like he's having a heart attack," Konig observed.

"Ferb?"

Before Phineas' request was verbalized, Ferb had already extracted a scanning device that highly resembled a barcode reader. He pointed it at PJ's torso and held it at arm's length, watching the readings. After a couple of seconds, it beeped, and he nodded solemnly at his brother.

"It is a heart attack," Phineas confirmed.

Konig sighed with relief. "That's good." He caught what he was saying. "I mean, that is unfortunate for you," he told the brothers, before rising to his feet. "It's okay, everyone," he told the crowd with a loud voice as it was gathering. "It's not poison! The food is safe. You can all go back to your tables."

That did nothing to disperse the crowd, however; if anything, more people were gathering around to see what was happening.

"You're gonna be okay, PJ," Phineas said, kneeling over the platypus. Ferb stooped down as well, already having donned a stethoscope. "How are his vitals?"

Ferb answered with a look.

"How is he having a heart attack? He isn't seven yet, he's in great health; in platypus years, this should be the prime of his life!"

Ferb offered Phineas another glance.

"You're right," the redhead admitted, "he is cloned from Perry's DNA, his internal organs might have aged more quickly than in nature. PJ, hang in there, buddy!"

PJ was losing consciousness. Ferb gave Phineas another sharp look.

"He's going into cardiac arrest!" Phineas shouted at Isabella's bodyguard. "Get us a defibrillator, stat!"

The man nodded and turned aside, his finger pressed against his earpiece.

"PJ," Phineas said, "PJ, stay with us. Focus on the sound of my voice. We're gonna save you, okay? Just hold on!" He looked at Ferb, seeing the fear in his brother and best friend's eyes.

"He's not breathing! We need that defibrillator!"

Isabella looked away in horror when she saw Phineas bend over to start applying CPR.

* * *

 _Somewhere in the Appalachian mountains  
_ _The future..._

 _The King battered his way up the overgrown path, and the platypus followed, hot on his trail. A dense patch of thick, green brush with nasty thorns caught at his robes, flaying the expensive gold threads, slowing his movement. He braced against the snag and tugged himself free, tearing his cloak in the process. Onwards he rushed, willing himself to go faster._

 _Pine trees were everywhere, tall and mighty evergreens that blanketed the steep mountain banks. If his long legs were an advantage in flight, it was nullified by the slope he had to climb almost as it were a flight of stairs. Still, the crunching sounds of his pursuer seemed to fall behind. His goal lay just ahead. Only a few more bends in the path to go, if he remembered correctly. He was close, so close to reaching it―_

 _The King burst into a small clearing. The grove of pine trees on the far side towered into the sky. He whipped around, still panting heavily, drawing his Glock. The platypus had to be close. Squinting down the sights, The King scanned for any signs of movement._

 _The platypus darted around the final bend and into view. The King pulled the trigger, flinching as the hammer slammed down on the barrel. He had always been repulsed by the weight of the weapon and by the dirty work of killing things himself, and his lack of training showed. He missed his mark, allowing the platypus to dive behind the cover of a big pine trunk at the edge of the clearing, quite unharmed._

 _Keeping the gun aimed at the base of the tree, The King backed away slowly. The platypus peeked around the left side of the trunk. He fired two more bullets into the tree to force him to retreat again behind it._

" _You know, usually, this is the part where the bad guy starts to monologue," the platypus said. "Telling me about their evil plan, about how their tragic backstory set them on a path inevitably leading them along to this very moment."_

 _The King cautiously took another step back._

 _The platypus peeked around the tree again. He fired one more round into the tree, but this time the platypus swooped out at unbelievable speed, close to the ground and practically on all fours. The King got off two more rounds before a beaver tail swiped across his hand, slapping the gun out of his grasp and knocking it clear across the grove._

 _It was time for a new plan of attack. He ducked down and used his long legs to sweep the platypus' webbed feet out from under him, sending him tumbling to the ground. This gave The King a second or two, all the time that he needed. He shifted his weight backwards until he found the switch hidden in the dirt under his boot, then stepped on it._

 _A steel cage fell from somewhere in the canopy above where it had been hidden. The platypus looked up just in time to see it threatening to ensnare him, and rolled out of the way._

" _No!" The King shouted. He tried to move, but his boot got caught up by the lever._

 _A barrage of punches landed on The King, packing far more power than their deceptively small fists seemed capable of unleashing. The King felt himself keel over in pain to face plant into the ground, making him spit dirt out of his mouth while his arms were craned behind his back and snapped into restraints. The platypus stood on his shoulder triumphantly. "Your Conspirium is no more," he sneered._

 _Only a few paces away, The King watched unnoticed, quite hidden by the trunk of another majestic pine, as his time-clone was cuffed by the platypus. His likeness was surely humiliated beyond degree, as he was led on a leash like a dog by the platypus back down the path they had just come up. Waiting until they were well out of earshot, The King finally stepped out into the clearing and approached the digital tree his other self had been striving to reach._

 _He placed the palm of his hand against the bark, and the digital illusion vanished to be replaced by a biometric scanner and pale blue door. Also materializing was the outline of a tiny shed, the entrance to the Conspirium's secret underground bunker. When the scanner recognized his prints, it hissed softly and the door slid open, letting the soft glow of the interior lights shine on him. He regally paced down the steps to where his time machine awaited, stepped into its chair, and with the press of a button, he disappeared._

 _He arrived back in his present. The blonde, golden curls of his first lieutenant, Suzy Johnson, were covering her face as she kneeled before him. "Welcome back, My King," she greeted._

" _Your plan failed," The King abruptly stated as he brushed across the room to plop himself wearily into his throne. "The platypus lives."_

 _Suzy bowed her head. "Forgive me, O King."_

 _With a snap of his fingers, The King got her to look up. "This recent string of failures is starting to get on my nerves!"_

 _His tone made Suzy wince. "We were very close to killing him! And it was brilliant, too, because if we outright killed him, the Flynns were always going to send someone back in time to stop us, just like what happened last summer. But if they were made to think he died of_ natural causes _, they'd have mourned and buried him. We just had bad luck. At least we hid our tracks well enough that they still do not know we poisoned him. The shrinking drone was able to administer the dosage completely undetected, with no wound or mark left behind on the skin."_

" _Close isn't good enough!" The King slammed his fist down. Lowering his voice, he continued. "Right now, the platypus is the only thing stopping us from achieving our goals. I. Want. Him. Dead."_

 _Suzy lowered her eyes and took a deep breath. "I understand, My King. Perhaps there is still a way to eliminate him."_

* * *

Washington, D.C.  
September 26, 2049

The room PJ found himself in was brilliantly lit. As he came to himself, he realized he was lying in a human sized hospital bed that was far too big for him. Every muscle he tried to move was sore.

"Hey, PJ," somebody said to his right. PJ looked over to find Phineas there, watching him rest.

He let his head fall back to be enveloped by the pillow. "What happened?"

"You had a heart attack," Phineas said. "We almost lost you."

"Did Suzy attack the President?"

Phineas sighed. "After your accident, the rest of the gala went off without a hitch. Kyle Konig gave his speech, Isabella gave hers, and then the letter from George Washington was read. Suzy didn't attack. As far as we can tell, it was a false alarm. Maybe the information you got was bad."

That didn't make sense to PJ. "No," he said, after thinking for a minute, "the information was good, our assumption about President Flynn―I mean, Isabella―wasn't. She wasn't the Conspirium's target. _I_ was. The poison was intended for me."

"Now PJ, don't get ahead of yourself," Phineas said. "There's something you should know. Since you're a clone, it's very possible that your internal organs are aging faster than normal. It happens sometimes―you weren't poisoned. The cloning process occasionally results in the chromosomes forming shorter telomeres than normal births, and―"

"No," PJ said, confidently. He sat up in his bed to make his point to Phineas. "I must have been poisoned. I _know_ it. Isn't there, like, some blood tests you can run, to check for toxins, or something?"

Phineas paused to consider it. "It's possible, maybe. I just don't think―"

"Then let's do it!"

"I―" Phineas hesitated.

"Are we going to test my blood, or not?"

"Okay, we'll run some tests, if it makes you feel better. But the blood tests they run in hospitals aren't exactly calibrated for a platypus. It'll take some time." Phineas took a deep breath, and PJ could tell he wasn't convinced. "Look, whether you were poisoned or not, we're just glad you're okay. Now get some rest, PJ. Marie's been dying to see you, so you're gonna need it."

He stood to leave, and PJ settled back down under the covers. His body may have been weak, but his mind raced to try to figure out what he'd missed about the Conspirium and Suzy. Any small detail he could have overlooked. He had to be close to finding out what they were planning next.


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"We have breaking news…"

"A new story is developing…"

"This just in…"

"At a gala last night, hosted by the Cincinnati Society―"

"New evidence has been brought to light…"

"A shocking discovery…"

"Horrifying…"

"Gut-wrenching…"

"Shade is being cast on the legacy of America's first president, George Washington―"

"George Washington―"

"George Washington―"

"Fallen from grace in the public's eye…"

"Far-reaching historical ramifications…"

"A letter that contained―"

"Anti-palindrome epithets…"

"Vile anti-palindrome obscenities…"

"Anti-palindromic slurs…"

"Including use of the P-word…"

"The P-word―"

"More anti-palindrome sentiments are now being discovered in other documents written by George Washington…"

"Uncovering more anti-palindromic rhetoric…"

"What might be the biggest political scandal in memory…"

"George Washington's name is mud―"

"The historical inaccuracies have lead to the firing of hundreds of high school and college history teachers nationwide…"

"Many historians are being discredited…"

"Conspiracy theorists are having a field day…"

"It is well known that Washington was a Mason, he owned slaves, why are Americans surprised that he was also an anti-palindromist? …"

"Now this one historian is claiming that George Washington actually _wasn't_ anti-palindromist…"

"Talk of banning the One Dollar Bill…"

"I was ashamed when my child asked me who George Washington was…"

"Can we rename Washington D.C. to something else, please?"

"This just in―"

"We're now learning that…"

"President Isabella Flynn―"

"―Spoke in support of Washington―"

"―At the same gala where Washington's anti-palindrome statements were discovered…"

"President Flynn was reported to have given high praise of Washington's character and legacy…"

"Saying, 'Washington has always been a hero to me'..."

"'Someone we should all strive to be like'…"

"President Flynn it seems may also hold anti-palindrome sentiments…"

"President Flynn is now claiming that she had no knowledge of George Washington's anti-palindromist views…"

"The President says she was not aware of that side of George Washington at the time she gave her speech…"

"Denies being an anti-palindromist…"

"Despite her public statements, President Flynn's popularity still plummets to all-time lows…"

"It seems the damage has already been done…"

"Americans are questioning why they ever voted for President Flynn…"

"Some Congressmen and women are calling for her impeachment…"

"Impeaching President Flynn…"

"President Flynn will not be impeached…"

"President Flynn will soon be impeached…"

"President Flynn might be resigning…"

"Rumors of impeachment are reportedly false…"

"Everyone is asking, why didn't we see this coming?"

"Has the timeline been changed?"

"Now NASA is being blamed―"

"Conspiracy theorists say NASA was hiding the Washington Scandal from the timeline from the beginning…"

"Some say their loved ones have not come back from the future since the apparent timeline-shift…"

"Physicists are stumped…"

"Russia, North Korea leave UN, severing diplomacy with America for first time in nearly a decade…"

"Phineas and Ferb say they are looking into the apparent timeline-shift…"

"Phineas and Ferb have lost America's trust, many believe―"

"―Moral character of the nation's leaders are in question…"

"Preppers are hoarding―"

"―Purchasing food, medicine, and other supplies in bulk quantities…"

"Believing that the end of the world is coming…"

* * *

Washington, D.C.  
September 28, 2049

In atypical Monday morning fashion, PJ trudged into his office and sank onto his chair, exhausted from the maelstrom that had been this weekend. He was angry. A heavy air pressed down on his team as well, who this morning were far from the supportive and encouraging folks they had been when they came to visit him in his recovery room at the hospital two days before. They all felt a little bit of the doom and gloom that had gripped the nation. Not even Eliot was bouncing about, cracking his usual jokes.

Normally, PJ was always totally focused and ready to roll up his sleeves and get to work, even on Mondays. He supposed today should have been different; after all, it was his first day back since being in the hospital. But after so much had happened over the weekend while he could do nothing but lay in bed, resting, arriving at work and greeting his team felt like something out of an eerie dream.

PJ decided to start the day with a short meeting, to get everyone focused. "I know a lot has been going on recently with the news," he said to start things off after calling everyone together, "but none of that concerns us. Our job is to find the Conspirium. We'll let the President's PR team worry about the politics."

"Sir," Olsen spoke, "with all due respect, since we were wrong about Suzy being at the gala, we're back to square one."

PJ raised an eyebrow. "Were we, though? Yesterday, Phineas and Ferb found residual levels of potassium chloride in my blood tests. My heart attack was no accident―I was poisoned."

When he saw the surprised looks on everyone's faces, PJ further explained. "The poison wasn't ingested. Toxicity levels suggest the serum was injected into my bloodstream somehow. Somebody from the Conspirium was there Friday night. And right now, the two top suspects are Dr. Nathaniel Turnstead and Kyle Konig." He counted them off on his fingers.

"The two men who sat next to you during the dinner," Coombs breathed.

"One of them had to be who injected me," PJ nodded. "But we couldn't find an injection site, oddly. We don't know how they did it, but Phineas and Ferb are working on it."

Eliot inhaled sharply, jumping in his seat to grab everyone's attention. "Phineas Flynn was also sitting next to you throughout the dinner!" he exclaimed. "Maybe it was him!"

Everyone gave him ridiculous looks.

"You're right," he retreated. "Bad idea."

PJ turned to the rest of his team. "So here's the plan. Waters and Olsen, I want the two of you to go see Dr. Turnstead. We don't have a warrant yet, so we can't search him. Until we do, you'll just have to watch him, poke around, ask some questions, do some digging. Tui and Willy, you're coming with me to see Konig. Eliot and Ramirez, you work on getting us search warrants, then help Coombs and Lee with reconnaissance. Send some time drones back a few days and tag them."

"Yes, sir!"

"If you find anything, report it to me immediately. It's very probable that one of these two people has been in contact with Suzy sometime within the last seventy-two hours, so stay focused, be observant, and let's go find the son of a gun who's behind all this!"

* * *

Lee led the way as Coombs, Eliot and Ramirez followed him down to the lab. It was a couple of floors down from where their offices resided, and though it was technically still above ground, there were no windows in this part of the building. Ceiling lights radiated a sterile, flickering glow in the sunlight's place. Lee halted at a door and hunched down to enter the five-digit security code before swinging the door open. They all entered to find themselves in a square room with computers and instruments lining all the walls, and four countertop islands separated from each other at evenly spaced intervals. Some basic tools were laid out on a couple of counters, while the remaining tables were spotlessly clean. Lee shrugged off a jacket and sat at a console near the first countertop like he was comfortably at home.

Coombs likewise took a seat and reached out to begin typing at a keyboard. Ramirez, who didn't specialize in technology, pulled up a chair behind them to watch, ready to be of assistance. Eliot, on the other hand, paced over to the nearest wall and began inspecting the various doohickeys, thingamabobs, and doodads.

"I wouldn't touch that if I were you," Lee said over his shoulder. "Pushing that button will instantly create a black hole and jeopardize the entire planet!"

Eliot froze with his finger extended toward the pale blue button on a electronic contraption the size of a microwave oven. After a moment, he slowly turned to give Lee an odd look. "Wait, you're telling me we have a black hole-generating machine just sitting here?"

Lee swiveled around, the grin on his face all but screaming, ' _gotcha!'_ "Well, it _does_ produce 'black holes,' and they are dangerous―dangerously delicious!" He stood to reach up and press the button, and _zap!_ In a flash of light, a plate of freshly baked chocolate donut holes materialized inside the box. Lee pulled open the down-swinging oven lid and popped one into his mouth. "See? Black holes."

"Oh!" Eliot grabbed one too, and took a bite. "Black _donut_ holes!"

"And the button next to it _also_ produces black holes," Lee said as he sat back down. "But really, it's just the switch that opens the chute the mail slides through." He swiveled around in his chair to make eye contact. "And seriously, don't touch anything." Once Eliot nodded, he swiveled back and returned to his work.

"Can't believe you guys never told the rest of us about these snacks," Eliot muttered as he hopped up to sit on the countertop island.

After a short spell of typing, the coding for the time drones was complete. An invention that was simultaneously any spy agency's most valuable tool and greatest nightmare, the drones were a masterpiece of mechanical miniaturization. To the naked eye, they were indistinguishable from fruit flies. On the inside, however, they were equipped with sophisticated cameras, ultraviolet and infrared sensors, audio recorders, and even their wings were covered in tiny solar panels so that their batteries recharged during the day. Despite weighing less than a tenth of a gram, they could collect and store up to 2 gigabytes of data each, when there wasn't a secure wifi connection for them to readily send files through. Tiny barbs on the drones' legs allowed them adhere to any surface, wall, or ceiling, spying on their targets completely undetected. The underside of the wings were also coated with a special UV-tinted paint that discouraged birds from eating them. Their biggest limit was that they could only fly at a top speed of about two knots, meaning they could be almost useless outdoors if there was any sort of headwind.

Coombs had already prepared a small box containing a batch of drones, and Lee initiated a program to download their specific instructions for this mission.

"Twelve drones," Coombs said in his slight lisp, a speech impediment that wasn't really his fault, considering he was born deaf. It was impressive he could speak as well as he did when he missed the chance to experience spoken language at the crucial developmental stages of his childhood. "The other three are damaged."

"So, we'll send six to Turnstead and six to Konig," Lee quickly decided. He hit a few keystrokes. "All right. Testing drone one." He typed a command, and the first drone noiselessly ascended to hover in the air. Lee nodded in approval as the other drones responded to his commands, one by one. "Everything looks good."

"I'll go get the time pod ready." Coombs arose and made his way over to the lab's time machine, on the far wall. This time machine was much too small for humans to travel in, but that was no problem, since it was designed specifically for the drones. Coombs opened the pod door and started hitting buttons on the control panel, while Lee directed the drones to fly as a swarm into the pod. It looked like a tiny whiff of smoke passing through the air as they stayed hovering close together to conserve energy.

Ramirez and Eliot watched in awe from the sidelines. Once the drones were inside the time pod and the door had been shut, Coombs activated the machine, and with a pop, it fired to life. Instantly, the drones vanished.

"So, how long until the drones get back?" Eliot asked.

"They're already here," responded Lee, who walked briskly to the lab door and opened it. "I programmed them to arrive back at the lab at precisely this time." Sure enough, in flew a couple of barely perceptible specks. "One, two, three," Lee counted. "Four, there's five, and six? That's it? Only six?" He stuck his head out and checked both directions in the hallway.

"What happened to the others?" Ramirez asked.

"They are never late," Lee pondered aloud, "and sometimes birds will still eat one or two, but six? That is unlikely." He sat back down at his computer station to start decrypting the data from the six punctual drones. "The only other possibility is that the rest of the drones were damaged―or discovered―somehow."

* * *

"So the other six drones never returned?" PJ asked through his communicator.

"All the drones that were sent to target Konig never returned," Lee summed up. "We have only just started to analyze the data from the drones that returned, and so far we haven't seen anything suspicious about Turnstead. But for all six of the drones that were assigned to Konig to vanish, that can't be a coincidence."

"That makes sense," PJ said. "I had a feeling Konig was the one. He's gotta be our link to Suzy and the Conspirium."

"So what now, boss?" Eliot's voice crackled.

PJ rotated his communicator's camera so that it shared his view out the window. "We're looking at Konig's front porch right now. Sensors indicate the house is empty. He's not here."

* * *

Wordlessly, PJ, Tui, and Willy had been watching the electronic touchscreen on the vehicle dash for almost half an hour, waiting for the confirmation of their search warrant authorization. At last, the notification popped up on the screen.

Immediately, PJ said, "There's our green light! Let's go!"

The platypus led the way to the front door and rapped hard on its wood varnish. "This is Agent PJ, from the Department of Homeland Security," he shouted. "Open up!"

Without even waiting after the courtesy knock for anyone to answer, PJ stepped aside and jerked his head toward the door, giving the two gigantic men permission. Together, they kicked in unison, knocking the door clean off its hinges. It fell inward and slammed flat onto the floor. PJ waited for them to walk inside before entering last.

The front room looked more like a museum than a sitting room. Glass displays showcased old-looking historical documents and antiques, such as a Confederate soldier uniform, an early design of the American flag, coins and medallions, and the corroded barrel of a flintlock pistol. On the wall, a large painted portrait hung, the label declaring it as belonging to one General Horatio Lloyd Gates.

Tui and Willy had already moved on to search elsewhere, and PJ pushed on behind them. Past the front room, the rest of the dwelling looked uninhabited. There were more glass display cases running throughout the parlor. These transitioned flawlessly into some furniture in the main living room, where everything was covered under protective plastic drapes, which themselves had a significant layer of dust. It was clear the house had not seen much use in at least the last year. PJ pulled the plastic sheet off a bookcase to inspect the various tomes, even pulling at a couple like he was checking for secret passages.

Thundering footsteps were coming his way. PJ looked up to see Tui and Willy re-enter the room. Tui was carrying a recording device. "Sir," he said, handing the recorder over, "we found this. It says it's for you."

"What says it's for me?" PJ took the recorder and ran his hands over it.

"The sticky note that was stuck to it," Tui said, giving him the slip of paper next.

The note was written in delicate handwriting. _To PJ the Platypus. With Love, From SJ_.

"Suzy Johnson," PJ snarled. "She knew we'd be here." He hit the playback button, and held it up so they could all listen.

"How's it going, PJ? It's been a while." Suzy's pitchy, saccharine drawl was unmistakable. "Sorry about slipping you that poison at dinner the other night. I promise, it was nothing personal. Well, maybe it was a _little_ bit personal! Ehehe!

"It's your own fault, though. You keep interfering in the Conspirium's business, and The King isn't happy about it! Oh, we've tried blowing you up, staging crashes, shooting you, but whenever we kill you, Phineas and Ferb always go back in time and warn you of your impending death. Then we have to cover our tracks by going back to stop ourselves from killing you, over and over... It's getting ANNOYING!" Her voice turned shrill. She paused, then resumed in her normal, sugary tone.

"Fortunately, the game of chess is finally over. You and your country are already in checkmate. So consider this your final warning, platy-breath. You still have enough time to save _most_ of the ones you love―if you leave, now. If you don't, you will lose _everything!_

"If you don't believe me, just know, we've been watching you for a long time." PJ turned to the window and peeked through the shutters. "We've been perfecting our plan for even longer. The future is certain. We will win. I have already been there and seen it!"

Suzy erupted in a laugh of utter wickedness. "It is glorious! And it all starts today! The day of the Final Revolution! A day that will be remembered for a thousand years, when the lies of freedom and democracy finally died!"

She twittered in laughter again. "The choice is yours, PJ. Or, maybe it isn't. After all, I already saw what you're going to do next. That's the funny thing about time travel. It makes you wonder if we really do have any free will at all. Well, since we both know you won't quit, guess that means I'll be seeing you soon. Tata!"

With a beep, the recording ended. PJ furiously hurled the device at the floor and stomped on it, smashing it to bits. He was shaking in anger, his breathing labored. Looking up to see that Tui and Willy were watching him closely, he balled up his fists to prevent his shaking hands from showing.

"Now what do we do?" Willy inquired.

"Who is 'The King?'" Tui added.

"How did Suzy know we'd be here?"

"There can't be a revolution, can there? I thought nobody could change the future?"

"Can the Conspirium do that?"

"I don't know," PJ said, stopping the cascade of questions. "I don't know any of those answers. But here's what I do know. Kyle Konig is the closest link to Suzy we have. We know he was at the gala Friday night, so we're going back in time to arrest him right then and there. And then he is going to take us to Suzy. And if that doesn't work, we'll go back further in time, to when Suzy was still working for the CIA. And if that doesn't work, we'll keep going back, all the way to the day she was born, if we have to, to stop her from doing whatever it is she's about to do. I don't care if we'll be breaking the laws, I don't care if we'll be preemptively arresting her before she ever committed a crime. She's too dangerous. She has got to be stopped. We're putting an end to all this, once and for all!"

The platypus marched out the door, his tiny body radiating all the testiness of a confined and hungry tiger. Tui and Willy glanced at each other before following.

PJ already had his communicator out. "Lee, get the department's time machine ready, and call in Olsen and Waters. I want everyone ready to time jump ASAP!" He swung open the agency vehicle door for Tui and Willy to climb in before entering himself. "Have it ready by the time we get there."

With that, he snapped his communicator shut and punched the emergency button on the auto-nav. The car's siren began whirring loudly as the vehicle lifted off the ground and flew towards headquarters at full speed.

Before PJ could get fully settled in, the auto-nav screen lit up with an alert. "An emergency is being reported in the downtown D.C. area," a cool, feminine voice in the computer system informed him. "I may not be able to take a direct route to HQ."

"What now?" PJ demanded the computer.

"Police scanners indicate a riot broke out an hour ago. Multiple shootings have occured. Twelve people are confirmed dead. The Metropolitan Police Department have so far been unable to contain the violence."

"Then give me control," PJ said, assuming the driver's seat.

"Manual control confirmed," the computer calmly stated. PJ took the wheel and revved the engines to full thrust.

"A riot?" Tui asked from the backseat. "How the heck did a riot break out? Where are the temporal control officers?"

Willy connected his tablet to the car's wifi and brought up the news. "Oh, jeez," he said. "The riot broke out during a huge protest of the city name―something about wanting to rename it something other than 'Washington.' Shots were fired, and with thousands of protesters there, the officers are overwhelmed. Oh, jeez," Willy repeated, looking more closely at his screen. "It says Ezekiel Okeko was spotted, and his gang is taking credit for escalating the protest."

"Okeko?" Tui shook his head in disbelief. "What's he doing out of LA?"

"His last name is a palindrome," explained Willy. "Must've been triggered by George Washington being anti-palindromist."

"Oh, jeez," Tui agreed. "Sir," he turned to PJ, "maybe we shouldn't take the route through the riot. With Ezekiel Okeko behind it, things could be real ugly down there."

"We'll make it," PJ said simply. The flying car jerked forward through the air as he accelerated.

"I'm bringing up a live broadcast of the riot," Willy announced as he tapped his screen.

"―sheer pandemonium," a male news investigator was reporting on scene. "As you just saw, the two men with rifles were seen pushing people away from the iconic statue of George Washington at Washington Circle. We cannot confirm if the armed men wore the signature tattoos and scars of Okeko gang members at this time. Their intentions with the statue were also unclear. Now, if you look just thirty yards this way, you'll see―"

A loud blast cut off the reporter's next words. The camera was correspondingly knocked over by the concussion. Quickly, the image re-stabilized, zooming in to focus on a cloud of smoke.

Rising to his feet, the reporter continued his commentary. "Oh my goodness! That blast came from the George Washington statue! Let's see if we can get a closer look…" The camera followed the reporter as he pushed through the crowd towards the column of smoke. "The smoke is starting to clear up now―it looks like the statue was blown up!" The camera struggled at first to penetrate the dust and smoke, but slowly, the image began to clear. True to his words, the base of the statue was all that could be seen amidst some debris and rubble.

The reporter turned to face the camera properly. "It appears that the iconic statue of George Washington riding a horse has been blown up, possibly by Okeko's gang. From here, we can see some bystanders who were injured by the blast. The riot is continuing to spiral out of control."

"It looks bad down there," Tui said over Willy's shoulder.

"Well, we're in a flying car," PJ pointed out, "so we should be fine." He looked out the windshield ahead at the oncoming building high rises. The riot was going on somewhere in the streets below those landmarks.

PJ stopped listening to the continuing news reports coming from Willy's device in the back and scanned the airstrip ahead, designating the allocated flight path for his vehicle. They were approaching the city limits from the northwest. HQ was just across town, on the other side of the Anacostia river. Probably due to the riot, there was little traffic in their airstrip, and they were making good time. That would change if they took a different route. They couldn't turn south, because in that direction lie the heart of the Capital, a strict no-fly zone, except for in rare cases of extreme national emergency, such as evacuating the President. On the other hand, if they veered east, they would have to take the highway all the way around the city, which would take at least an extra fifteen minutes, if not more with the extra traffic being diluted that way.

In this day and age, time is always relative. Maybe taking the safer route wouldn't hurt, PJ thought to himself.

His communicator broke him out of that train of thought. "Agent PJ, sir?" Coombs' voice strained to enunciate.

"Go ahead."

"Olsen and Waters just made it back in the teleporter. The time machine is ready, we're just waiting for your orders, sir."

"Hold your position," PJ commanded. "Wait for Tui, Willy, and me to get back. We're coming over the riot in downtown D.C., but we shouldn't be long."

Coombs copied that. PJ set his communicator back down and sped on ahead. A police barricade had been set up, forcing PJ to slow down. When the official manning the barricade saw that the car was US Government issued and PJ had his siren on, he didn't hesitate to wave him through the perimeter of the riot. PJ accelerated again. They were just passing over the tops of some of the taller buildings in the financial district now. A quick glance showed that one of the nearby rooftops held a couple of people on it, perhaps looking to escape the streets. PJ didn't bother to look any closer as he was focused on driving. Just then, an alarm on the dash started screaming at him.

"WARNING! MISSILE INCOMING! WARNING!"

PJ reflexively checked his rearview mirror, where he saw it. One of the folks on that rooftop had fired a rocket-propelled grenade at them. The highly trained agent didn't stop to ponder the ramifications of that information. Reacting immediately, he had just enough time to swerve, causing the RPG to deliver a glancing blow rather than impact them head on. The explosion rocked the flying car, jolting PJ so much his arms went slightly numb at the steering wheel.

The vehicle spun out of control. PJ fought with the thrusters to control the spiral, yet they plummeted toward the highrises like a wounded Apache helicopter. They didn't fall far before they crashed into the side of one of the buildings, smashing all their reinforced, bullet-proof windows. The brick and concrete wall held, causing the car to ricochet back and arc the rest of the way down. It hit the pavement with a wail of wrenching metal and screeching steel before they skidded to a stop.

Grunting at the strain of lifting his head, PJ felt a brief wave of nausea and disorientation as he looked out the broken glass. They were at least right-side up. He checked himself. A couple of bumps and bruised, nothing appeared to be broken.

"Tui? Willy? You all right?" he called back.

Willy coughed a little. "I've had worse. Remember that linebacker from Georgia Tech that laid me out?"

"Yeah, that dude was mean," Tui replied.

PJ sighed with relief before unclipping his safety belt. He pushed against the door to find it wedged shut, so he crawled through the gaping windshield instead. A loud grunt and the sound of metal crumpling told him that Tui had managed to force the door open.

Clapping his hands to get the dust off, PJ looked up to gather in his surroundings. The street sat in the shadow of a manmade valley, channelled between rows of dizzyingly tall buildings serving as artificial mountains. There were a handful of onlookers, staring in shock, having been interrupted from whatever business they had near the crash moments ago. It appeared that there was not much action going on, then he noticed that all the businesses in sight had already had all their ground-level windows smashed in. The riot was here, it had just moved on.

Behind him, Tui and Willy had extracted themselves from the smashed chassis. PJ reached for his communicator. "Coombs, are you still there?"

Silence. Checking his communicator more closely, he saw that it had a huge crack along its side. He tossed it away and looked at his agents. They had pulled their tactical gear from the wreckage and were inspecting it for further damage.

PJ saw movement out of the corner of his eye. "Strap up," he told them as he reached out and was handed his assault gear from Willy. "We're about to have company."

More humans, whom he could tell were clearly looking for trouble, were slithering out of the nearest hole in the building they had collided with. PJ hurriedly shrugged on his kevlar vest and strapped his sidearm to his belt just as they reached talking distance. PJ quickly took a count of the various sneering, bandanaed, and sullen faces. Over two dozen. He could smell a fight.

PJ raised his weapon―a smaller variant of the Beretta M9 model that was specially issued for him due to his size―and fired a bullet into the air. "That's close enough," he told them, leveling his arm to swoop his gun across them. "We don't want any trouble."

"That's them, all right," one of the hoodlums said through rotting teeth. "The talking platypus? Suzy was right."

The color drained from PJ's face. _Oh, no, Suzy is behind this, too._

He didn't let his reaction show, but brought the barrel of his gun round to point at the one who spoke. "You shut your mouth, dog. I don't want to see those disgusting teeth again."

The thug's eyes popped slightly in fear. He glanced at his companions. Like a concerto where the instruments were the clicking of cocked guns and swooshing sounds of moving hands, they all raised their weapons at PJ and his men. Tui and Willy drew their firearms in sync with the mob. Three against many. One could hardly call it a standoff.

Now finding himself gazing down well over twenty barrels, PJ knew he was had. "Okay," he said, showing his paws, and slowly lowering his pistol. "You win." He laid it on the pavement. He made eye contact with his agents, and Willy and Tui did the same.

Then, quick as a flash, PJ snatched a grenade-like orb from his belt and threw it high over his head. The device clicked, activating its core of powerful neodymium magnets. Before anyone in the mob knew what had happened, every gun was sucked out of their hands, into the sky, and squished into a compact ball of rods and barrels, wound around the grenade. There was a flash as the grenade's thermobaric charges ignited, blinding everyone who didn't look away in time and instantly vaporizing the entire blob of metal.

 _BANG!_

PJ, Tui, and Willy charged. The mob was disoriented from the explosion, and it made for easy pickings. PJ leapt up to the shoulders of his nearest attacker and threw all his weight behind his knuckles as he punched the center of the man's nose. From there, he sprang over and kicked mightily at the man standing beside him. And so he went, flying from person to person, striking them ferociously.

Willy and Tui thundered across their foes like juggernauts, picking them up, bodily throwing them across the street, knocking others out with just a single punch. With all their advanced training in hand-to-hand combat, they hardly ever even took a hit themselves, and when they did, it didn't even seem to faze them. Meanwhile, anyone they were able to land a hit on would be instantly on the ground, and lucky to get back up.

Being the smallest and most agile person in the skirmish, PJ adjusted and began zigging and zagging underfoot of his assailants to further confuse and disorient them. He'd tuck under a kick or a punch and roll behind the next guy, getting behind them to have an easy crack at a joint or pressure point before dodging and twirling around another guy to do it again. He zipped between one pair of legs, simultaneously swinging up with his tail to deliver a painful blow to the sap's family jewels. Then he leapt up into the air to avoid being toppled on, using his momentum to power an uppercut combo to one of the goons Willy had just tossed like a rag doll in his direction.

Something grabbed him from behind and threw him. PJ braced for a hard landing, but fell on one of the unconscious bodies left in Tui's wake, cushioning him nicely. He got back up, and saw that it was the same ugly dog with the rotted teeth. PJ charged, feinting a punch and then instead sliding between the thug's feet. He grabbed a ankle and yanked as he passed through. The rioter was caught completely by surprise and fell on his face. PJ speedily pounced on his back, grabbed him by the hair, and smashed his head against the pavement, knocking him out cold.

PJ stood up to catch his breath and was able to see Tui and Willy finish off the the last of the company. Now the street was littered with a bunch of bludgeoned, bruised, and bloody bodies, which oddly made the sight of the crashed car look slightly less out of place. Tui, having delivered the final blow, was joined by Willy in a fully choreographed dance where they pretended to spike a football, initiated a series of about a dozen high-fives in various poses and accompanied by a lot of "heys!" and "oh yeahs," and then jumped together and bumped chests in midair. Their touchdown celebration dance from their college days, he realized. It made him snort and shake his head. They weren't out of this yet.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

 _Somewhere in the Appalachian mountains  
_ _The future..._

 _The King battered his way up the overgrown path, and the platypus followed, hot on his trail. A dense patch of thick, green brush with nasty thorns caught at his robes, flaying the expensive gold threads, slowing his movement. He braced against the snag and tugged himself free, tearing his cloak in the process. Onwards he rushed, willing himself to go faster._

 _Pine trees were everywhere, tall and mighty evergreens that blanketed the steep mountain banks. If his long legs were an advantage in flight, it was nullified by the slope he had to climb almost as it were a flight of stairs. Still, the crunching sounds of his pursuer seemed to fall behind. His goal lay just ahead. Only a few more bends in the path to go, if he remembered correctly. He was close, so close to reaching it―_

 _The King burst into a small clearing. The grove of pine trees on the far side towered into the sky. He whipped around, still panting heavily, drawing his Glock. The platypus had to be close. Squinting down the sights, The King scanned for any signs of movement._

 _The platypus darted around the final bend and into view. The King pulled the trigger, flinching as the hammer slammed down on the barrel. He had always been repulsed by the weight of the weapon and by the dirty work of killing things himself, and his lack of training showed. He missed his mark, allowing the platypus to dive behind the cover of a big pine trunk at the edge of the clearing, quite unharmed._

 _Keeping the gun aimed at the base of the tree, The King backed away slowly. The platypus peeked around the left side of the trunk. He fired two more bullets into the tree to force it to retreat again behind it._

" _You know, usually, this is the part where the bad guy starts to monologue," the platypus said. "Telling me about their evil plan, about how their tragic backstory set them on a path inevitably leading them along to this very moment."_

 _The King cautiously took another step back._

 _The platypus peeked around the tree again. He fired one more round into the tree, but this time the platypus swooped out at unbelievable speed, close to the ground and practically on all fours. The King got off two more rounds before a beaver tail swiped across his hand, slapping the gun out of his grasp and knocking it clear across the grove._

 _As always, The King was ready for this part. He ducked down and used his long legs to sweep the platypus' webbed feet out from under it, sending it tumbling to the ground. The animal rolled out of reach and quickly regained its feet. The King extracted a knife, extending the point outward._

 _He sliced and lunged, trying to skewer the platypus, who easily dodged his attacks. The animal twisted and spun too quickly for him to keep up, making him feel like he was being toyed with. He threw the knife at it, failing again to make his mark, and elected instead to take a whack with a wooden baseball bat._

 _"How many weapons do you have?" it asked._

" _Every time that I bring something bigger than this, I don't even make it this far," he replied. He swung, missing as the platypus somersaulted out of reach._

 _The bat was heavier and less wieldy than the knife. The King swung again and again, only to hit air. The platypus was too small, too agile, and in far better shape than him. He tried to back the platypus against the trunk of another tree. Swinging with all his might, the animal ducked under and he whacked the tree trunk. The hard impact stung his hands, forcing him to drop the weapon._

 _With that, the platypus found its opening and the fight was over. A barrage of punches landed on The King, packing far more power than their deceptively small fists seemed capable of unleashing. The King felt himself keel over in pain to face plant into the ground, making him spit dirt out of his mouth while his arms were craned behind his back and snapped into restraints. The platypus stood on his shoulder triumphantly. "Your Conspirium is no more," he sneered._

 _Only a few paces away, The King watched unnoticed, quite hidden by the trunk of another majestic pine, as his time-clone was cuffed by the platypus. It seemed that no matter what weapons he had, no matter what traps he laid, no matter how much he studied his enemy's movements, he just couldn't defeat the platypus. He was running out of options._

* * *

WFN News Studio  
New York City  
September 27, 2049

"Welcome back to WFN News. I'm Jan Claymore, and joining me today, we have a special guest: Chad Vincent, Head of the U.S. History Department at American University, and best-selling author of many books, including _How America Almost Wasn't America_. Hello, Chad."

"Hi, Jan. Thank you for having me."

"And to my right, we have WFN News analyst Shawn Whisksfromaneyebrow, who always brings a certain amount of flair to every debate.

"So, Chad, recently you have gone public with claims that George Washington wasn't an anti-palindromist, even putting your career at stake with your unpopular opinion. Can you explain for us your position?"

"Certainly. You see, what most Americans don't realize about the issue at hand is that anti-palindromism only really became a moral issue in the last century. We can't judge historical figures for using 'anti-palindromist slurs' in the eighteenth century, because those words had a different meaning back then."

"Now, hold on, Chad," Shawn Whisksfromaneyebrow interrupted. "Whether or not the issue was at the forefront of everyone's moral compasses at the time, it's still wrong to treat palindromes, people, or people with palindromes for names, differently than we treat people who don't have palindromes for names. And George Washington did this. It doesn't matter if everyone else in his time did it, too―the fact remains: George Washington was an anti-palindromist!"

"Incorrect. We have _one_ recently discovered letter where George Washington uses the P-word. That is different from treating people poorly specifically because of the way they spell their name, and as far as the large body of historical evidence about him is concerned, he treated everyone the same whether they were a Hannah or a Susan or a Bob or a Jacob."

"Well, for me and most Americans, we find just calling someone the P-word to be equally offensive and akin to discrimination."

"Now, hold on a moment, and let us consider some historical facts. The P-word, and I'm going to say it so that I am being perfectly clear―and I apologize in advance to all the viewers out there who are triggered when they hear the word, but for the sake of debate, we have to be completely clear what word we are talking about here―now, the word George Washington used in his letter was 'pal,' and he used this word in the context of describing his friendship with Henry Knox. What's going on here is that over time, languages evolve, and the meanings of some words change. In the 1700's, the P-word had a different, and much more innocent meaning than it does today. It was something you called a friend, someone you were chums with, a buddy, someone who was like a brother. After all, why would George Washington be applying an anti-palindrome slur to someone whom he respected? And who, it should be obviously clear, did not have a palindrome for a name.

"Furthermore, if you actually go back and study the history of anti-palindromism, you'll find that the P-word didn't start being thrown around as an epithet until the highly charged anti-palindrome atmosphere of the mid-1950's, in fact originating in Britain. Even then, it still didn't enter mainstream culture or language until the infamous resurgence of anti-palindromism in the 2020's. Therefore, the offensive connotations involved with the P-word today didn't emerge until over 150 years after George Washington used that word. It couldn't possibly have been what he meant."

"Nah, nah, don't try and confuse me with your sorcerous ways―there's nothing that I've ever seen that could make me believe that George Washington wasn't anti-palindromist."

"You didn't believe he was anti-palindromist until a couple days ago."

"Yeah, well now I know better. And if there's one thing that you have to do to survive in this day and age, it's that you have to jump to conclusions about people you hear about online doing something that doesn't conform to your political agenda. No matter how much evidence stacks up against your hot flashes down the line, and no matter how much spreading that information about them defames and degrades their character. I'm sticking to my guns on this one."

"George Washington accomplished a great many heroic and wonderful deeds in his life―"

"I'm sorry," the news anchor interrupted, "but we're out of time. Get this crackpot outta here!"

"He was a great man! Erasing him from the history books is a big mistake! Can't we give him the benefit of the doubt? Those who do not learn from the mistakes of the past are doomed to repeat them!" He shouted at the camera as some security guards came and dragged him away. "You can't tear down yesterday's monuments because they're offensive today or our youth will never learn from the horrors and tragedies we had to overcome to get to where we are now―"

"Stay tuned," Jan Claymore practically sang, not appearing to be ruffled in the slightest by her guest being gagged and carried out. "After the break, we'll take a look at the developing story of a shark that escaped containment in a Seattle aquarium, almost injuring some children as it splashed and flailed around, suffocating."

* * *

Washington, D.C.  
September 28, 2049

"Are either of your communicators working? We need to call Coombs and have him send an extraction unit."

PJ watched Tui and Willy fumble with their pockets. Willy frowned when he inspected his. "Mine's busted, too."

"Mine looks like it works," Tui said, bending down to hand it over. PJ immediately radioed HQ.

"Coombs! Are you there? Coombs, come in!"

After a moment, someone answered. "This is Coombs. Agent PJ, sir, is that you?"

"Affirmative. We had an incident with the flying car, and we're gonna need extraction. Are Eliot and Ramirez there?"

He could hear shuffling on the other end. "Right here, boss," Eliot's voice rang.

"Right. Our location is―" he checked the lamppost at the nearest intersection― "We're at about 15th and K street. Maybe a block south of Fannie Mae."

"Roger. We're on our way now, sir," droned Coombs.

"Make it snappy, I want to get to that time machine as soon as possible." PJ slipped Tui's communicator into one of his vest pockets. "All right, let's get up to that rooftop to make it easier for them to get to us, plus it'll also provide some cover in case more of these Conspirium goons are hiding around." PJ kicked the ribs of one of the still unconscious thugs. Then he froze.

A block away, he was sure he'd just seen a flash of distinct golden curls round the corner of a brick wall and vanish. The shade of blonde was just a little too familiar.

Without any explanation, PJ bolted down the sidewalk, leaving a perplexed Tui and Willy to stare and puzzle for a few moments before chasing after him, too.

* * *

The USS Idaho  
About 60 nautical miles off the coast of Nova Scotia

Captain Lana Foster ordered her XO to hold a steady south-southwest course at a leisurely 23 knots and took another sip of coffee from the captain's chair. As the Ohio-class nuclear submarine spliced through the briny depths 40 yards below the water's surface, she couldn't help but feel colder than the chilly seawater surrounding them. She shivered again at what the Conspirium were going to do.

They had gotten to her three years ago. After the man she loved abandoned her for someone else, leaving her heartbroken, her life fell into a terrible spiral. Drugs, alcohol, narcotics, the whole shebang. She couldn't control her addictions, and they soon consumed her. She had become such a mess she should have been dishonorably discharged from the Navy. When she pleaded to her superior officer to give her one last chance, she was surprised to actually be given it. But it came at a cost. Before the Conspirium offered her a chance for a new life, she was nothing but a chronically depressed, self-destructive addict. Now, she had everything she'd ever wanted, and she owed the Conspirium her everything. Her life, her rank, even her soul. And they gave her no choice but to do this horrible deed.

It had been one thing when they brought her ex before her, blindfolded and bound, and put the gun in her hand so she could have her revenge. That was one person, and he deserved it. But this? This targeted millions of innocent people. And not enemies of the state―these would be American lives. The worst part of it was, it wouldn't even be the blast or the radiation that would kill them.

Her instructions, including the time she was to launch the missile, had been very precise. And that moment was almost here.

She steeled herself against the guilt welling up inside. _For the Conspirium._

* * *

Washington, D.C.

PJ's arms and legs pumped fluidly, propelling him to the spot he'd seen Suzy at. He rounded the corner at top speed and kept going. His instincts were screaming at him, telling him to run as fast as he could, but he realized he didn't know where to go. This street was narrower than the one they had crashed onto, only one lane wide in both directions. It appeared to be lifeless, no movement caught his eye. He slowed to a stop to look for possible escape routes.

Tui and Willy rounded the corner behind him. "What the heck is going on?" Willy said.

Without turning to face them, PJ held up a fist, asking for silence, while exerting all his senses to penetrate his surroundings. He could hear the wind murmuring, he could smell a hint of perfume. "I just saw Suzy Johnson," he whispered. "Split up and search for her. Check those two buildings." He pointed across the street, and although he knew he must look crazy, the men obeyed without hesitation. PJ then carefully approached a small alleyway ahead. He reached for his holster, and upon feeling nothing, remembered that he had lost his weapon to the magnet grenade. After the briefest pause, he entered the alley.

There was nothing but trash strewn about and a fire escape scaling the wall to his right. He moved deeper into the gap, checking that nobody could be hiding up the fire escape. Upon passing an overflowing dumpster, he saw that there was a door behind it that he hadn't noticed before. Listening to his instincts, he tried the handle, and found it unlocked. He swung the door wide and went in.

The first thing he noticed was that the lights were out. His eyes slowly adjusted and he started to make out the blocky shapes in the dark. Workbenches, conveyor belts, grinders, huge meat processors. The sanitized scent of ammonia. He guessed he was in some sort of kitchen, probably the back end of a restaurant on the block. There was some natural light coming from somewhere. PJ used that to locate a window and saw it led to the dining area. He tiptoed past some grills and cookers that looked a lot more menacing in the dark, especially since they were all so much taller than him.

 _SCREEE!_

The sound of metal scraping on metal set PJ's fur on end. As he looked in the direction of the noise, one of the countertops obscured his view. He climbed up on top for a better look.

From the shadows, his eyes detected motion, and he reacted before he even realized Suzy had hurled something at him. Just in the nick of time, he dove aside, and a butcher's knife spliced through the air, like it was in slow motion, where he had just been. It clanged into some pots stacked away in the corner.

"Tag! You're it!" Suzy giggled playfully, before taking flight towards the dining area. PJ tore after her.

She gracefully hurdled over a table and some chairs on her way to the exit. PJ jumped up on the counter next to the cash register in time to see her skedaddle past outside the windows, out in the golden sunlight. He launched himself off the counter and lunged from table to table, taking the shortest route possible across the room by using them like stepping stones. Springing for the windows, he crashed through one of the wider panes to land in a crouch on the pavement outside.

He looked up. Suzy was making her break for it just ahead. He exploded like a sprinter off the starting blocks in pursuit. She turned a corner into another alley, and PJ made a beeline for it.

Upon reaching the gap, he found that the alley was blocked by a chain-link fence. He had no trouble climbing it and leaping to the other side, though it cost him precious seconds. Suzy was already out of sight. Sprinting to the far end of the alley, he stopped and looked both ways. There was a flash of golden hair to his right, and his legs churned forward. By the time he got clear of the gap and was back on another road, his lungs were burning. Suzy was running up the sidewalk just ahead. He was almost to her.

Willing himself onward despite the burning in his chest and legs, he was gaining ground on her, fast. Closer, closer, he was almost on her tail. He dove to trip her by the ankles―and phased right through her body as if she had been a ghost.

PJ face-planted into the pavement. Groaning, he slowly pushed himself back up, his chest heaving in desperate need for oxygen.

"Hahaha!" Suzy's voice twittered in a high-pitched laugh. He looked back at her visage. Now, as he looked at her properly, her appearance would slightly glitch out every once in a while.

"A hologram!" he grunted in realization. Suzy waved by wiggling her fingers at him while her body began to fade away into oblivion. "Where are you?" he shouted at the spot where her visage had been standing.

He rose to his feet, still panting heavily, but quickly catching his breath. To be operating a hologram decoy, she had to be close. PJ cast his eyes across the way. Then, he remembered: Suzy had thrown a knife at him earlier. Holograms can't do that! The real McCoy was back at the restaurant!

If there was any chance she was still there, he had to take it. He ignored his burning muscles and ran as fast as he could back the way he had come. He located the gap he had emerged from a minute ago and sped through it, not paying any attention to his surroundings. He was rounding a brick corner to go back down the alley he had taken, when something lifted him off his feet and slammed him against the wall.

"Oof!" He hacked a little at the strain the impact had on his ribcage.

"PJ, stop! It's me!"

PJ was pinned by strong arms. He raised his eyes to see who was holding him down so tightly, and when he saw who it was, he thought for a moment that lack of oxygen was causing him to see things.

He panted for a moment, catching his breath. "Oh. Hi, me."

The one holding him pinned against the wall was none other than his mirror image: PJ the Platypus.

PJ started struggling. "Look, I don't have time for this, future me," he said. "Suzy could still be close by!"

"Forget Suzy!" his time clone barked in return, slamming him against the wall again. "It's a trap! Listen to me, if you chase after Suzy now, everyone is going to die!"

PJ stopped fighting. "Confirmation code?" By this, he meant the contingency password only he knew. Time travel is serious business. As part of his training, PJ was taught that if one of his time clones from the future came to him with critical intel, the only way he could know it was really himself from the future would be by using a confirmation code only his future self could possibly know. In other words, a password he had created and never told anyone.

Future PJ leaned in close and reverently whispered the password. "Perry."

He released PJ from his grip. PJ was still breathing a little heavier than normal, but was almost fully composed now. Looking at his doppleganger, he asked, "What else are you here to tell me?"

The platypus from the future looked him over. "I really wish I could stop you from making the biggest mistake of our life, but I know you―we―have to be allowed to make that choice for ourselves." He stepped back a pace. "Let's see, what did I tell myself when I was in your shoes? It's been so long, I can hardly remember."

Irritated, PJ pushed past his future self. "Look, Suzy is just over there! I'm so close to getting her and stopping everything the Conspirium is trying to achieve! And you're saying that _that's_ a mistake?"

"She had this all planned out from the beginning," Future PJ responded. "She knows exactly what she's doing. The best thing you can do right now is ignore her. You're the only one who can stop the nukes from going off, and she knows it, that's why she's stalling you with these little diversions."

"Nukes?" PJ's face twisted in fear.

"Oh, yeah, nukes. Probably should have led with that."

"How did the Conspirium get access to nuclear weapons?"

"I don't know, but they have a hidden bunker deep in the Appalachian mountains. It has a command center. Get there soon enough, and there's a chance you'll be able to stop the nukes from detonating."

PJ turned back to look across the street. If his time clone was right, things were already far worse than even he could have imagined. But still, he was sure that if he could just apprehend Suzy, he could stop everything right here, right now.

"PJ," his Future Self said, "I know what you're thinking. If you go down that road, all you'll see is suffering."

Looking back, he saw that his other self wasn't lying. PJ saw deep sadness brimming in those all-too-familiar eyes. What should he do?

Before he could decide, a roaring noise belched from the sky. PJ looked up to see a squad car with his team piled in, descending to the street in front of him. He glanced back, and saw that his Future Self was gone.

PJ climbed the chain-link fence to go and greet his team. As soon as the car settled on the ground, Eliot was already filing out, followed by Ramirez, and Coombs and Lee, and Olsen and Waters. Even Tui and Willy were with them, too. They must have picked them up first.

"Hey boss," Eliot greeted.

"Everyone ready to go?" PJ asked.

"Yes sir!"

"Okay. Tui and Willy, did you explain the situation to the others?"

"We told them you saw Suzy Johnson near here," Tui said.

"I believe I have cornered her inside that restaurant." PJ pointed. "If she's still in there, now's our chance!"

Lee held up an electronic device and pointed it at the restaurant, watching the readout. "The scanner says there is someone still in there," he announced.

"It's Suzy!" PJ exclaimed. "We have her outnumbered and outgunned. We're taking this shot right now! Team, this is the moment we have been preparing for!" He broke into a jog in the direction of the building, leading the way. Obediently, his teammates followed.

PJ stopped as he reached the main entrance. He took cover against the wall next to the door before turning to face his team. "Remember, Suzy is a master of hypnotism. If you try and reason with her, if you let her speak at all, she will start finding ways to manipulate you."

Everyone nodded in understanding.

"Good. We're ready. Everyone, move in!"

On cue, the eight humans on PJ's elite strike team charged through the front door. PJ waited for them all to clear the threshold before entering the building himself.

An explosion engulfed the building in an all-consuming ball of fire. PJ's eardrums burst from a shockwave that flung his body out the building and across the street. Laying dazed on the far sidewalk, he felt himself rapidly blacking out, and from then on knew nothing else.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

 _ConspiracyTheoristsOnline_org, 10:49, 09-22-2049_

" _The Conspirium"―Is there really an elite group of people running America from behind the scenes? We think so…_

…  
 _ConspiracyTheoristsOnline_org, 17:12, 09-25-2049_

 _Is "The Conspirium" the New Illuminati? Or just another cult?_

…  
 _WFNnews_net, 9:26 EDT, 09-28-2049_

 _An online petition calling for the impeachment of President Isabella Flynn has been signed by over 50 million people, WFN News reports. After the President was discovered to be a George Washington sympathizer and possible anti-palindromist this past weekend, she has lost the support of most of the nation. Other recent polls also reveal that the majority of Americans are currently highly dissatisfied with their government leadership. Jump to article: Can we get rid of the Constitution?_

…  
 _ConspiracyTheoristsOnline_org, 11:01, 09-28-2049_

 _Rumors are spreading across the web that a series of government shutdowns are imminent due to the rising chaos in Washington, D.C. One of our members, who wishes to remain anonymous, claims that President Isabella Flynn evacuated the White House earlier this morning and is hiding in a top secret location somewhere outside the Capitol. The White House has refused to either confirm or deny these rumors. Update: Is this connected to the petition to impeach President Flynn, which recently reached 50 million signatures?_

…  
 _ConspiractyTheoristsOnline_org, 12:38, 09-28-2049_

 _It has been confirmed that President Flynn is still at the White House, CTO reports. It seems the anonymous tip we received earlier was spurious. However, with notorious gangster Ezekiel Okeko claiming responsibility for the ongoing riots in downtown D.C., we wonder how long the President will choose to remain so close to the danger zone. It is unknown if Okeko is targeting the White House. Death tolls due to the riot have risen to 40, with dozens more confirmed injured or missing. Meanwhile, our booming chatrooms indicate that the majority of the American public are in favor of the riots and Okeko's actions. Update: Some of our readers have commented that the White House has underground bunkers the President can access rather than evacuate the D.C. Metropolitan area for safety. We again apologize for posting incorrect information._

* * *

United States Strategic Command (USSTRATCOM)  
Offutt Air Force Base, Omaha

General Jeffrey H. Smith was just eating his daily tuna sandwich when he absentmindedly realized his throat was itchy. At first scratch, he thought nothing of it, but when it didn't go away, he immediately started to worry. He was deathly allergic to nuts, and had had this reaction too many times just from walking into supermarkets that sell peanut butter. Reaching into his pocket for his medication, he was already starting to feel difficulty breathing. Without delay, he popped a pill in his mouth and forced himself to swallow, despite the pain.

It was getting harder and harder for him to breathe, and he felt a rising pain in his chest. He buzzed the intercom for his aides, realizing he needed to get to the medical wing promptly. His aide entered his office, but ignored his gestures that he was choking. Instead, the aide wrested his hand away from his throat and placed it on a portable scanner. The son of a gun was stealing his prints!

There was nothing the General could do, as he was quickly becoming weak and lightheaded. He started to see stars popping up into his field of vision as he watched his aide shuffle through his desk, retrieving a special key that, combined with his fingerprints, granted access to the nuclear launch codes. General Smith's dying breath was spent swearing at the aide, but he did not have the strength to utter his curses at more than a whisper.

* * *

The USS Idaho  
About 50 nautical miles off the coast of Nova Scotia

It was time. Captain Foster signaled for her XO to get ready. The XO was just a kid in Foster's eyes, but the Conspirium pulled some strings for his rank advancement and subsequent placement aboard her ship just for this mission. Nobody else in the crew were in on it. The last twinge of patriotism inside her perhaps secretly hoped they would pull a mutiny when they saw what she was about to do. She pushed those feelings aside when her XO shot her a stern look, indicating he was ready to go.

Just as they'd rehearsed, Captain Foster started the routine with a command. "Bring us to periscope depth," she ordered.

"Ascending to periscope depth," copied her XO, who flipped some switches and adjusted some dials, reorienting the rudders and expeditiously redistributing the ballast. After a few quiet minutes, he softly declared, "Captain, we have reached periscope depth."

"Up periscope."

Captain Foster rose from her chair and pressed her face against the viewpiece. Protocol dictates that no noise ought to be made by anyone in the sub until the surface is confirmed to be clear of any unwanted contacts. The control deck waited in silence while the Captain swiveled to and fro, scoping out the surface. "All clear," she finally announced. "Radio Strategic Command. Tell them we're awaiting our orders."

Some small part of her hoped the order would never come.

It didn't take long for the navigator to confirm her fears. "Sir, Strategic Command is on the line, waiting."

Sighing, Captain Foster doomed herself to her role. "This is Captain Foster of the USS Idaho," she said, after snatching the communicator. A dark shadow crossed the faces of every crewman in the tiny room as the dispatch gave them their orders.

"Understood," she hesitantly said after the dispatch finished. She looked around the compartment. Everyone was staring at her. "Well, you heard our orders! Combat control, plug in the coordinates; armaments, prepare the Trident missile!"

"But Captain, those coordinates, they're―they're over American soil!"

"StratCom knows that!" The air in the room turned heavy.

The XO spoke up. "Men, we've been given our orders, we must follow protocol." His voice was deadly cold.

Every man somberly turned to face his station. "Aye, Captain, entering the coordinates now," declared the crewman. The sole armed Trident missile―fitted with six nuclear warheads―was ready to fire momentarily. Captain Foster had to admit, her crew was well-trained.

The Captain and her XO extracted their keyrings from their pockets and moved to opposite sides of the control room. Looking across and nodding at her first mate, Captain Foster inserted her key into the nuclear codebox in sync with him as he inserted his, bypassing the failsafe. They typed in the numeric code they had received with the radio transmission. There was a beep, and a light blazed green. The code had worked.

"Fire on my mark," the Captain said. "Three. Two. One."

Everyone in the room gulped; or tried to, if they didn't have the necessary saliva in their mouths to swallow.

"Fire." Together, the Conspirium collaborators turned their keys to the right. The submarine hull shuddered as the 130,000 pound rocket blasted itself out of its eight foot wide hatch, aft of the dorsal atop the sub's torpedo-shaped body.

In less than fifteen minutes, the world as they knew it was going to end, and nothing could stop it.

* * *

Washington, D.C.

PJ the platypus groaned as he opened his eyes and tried to focus. His ears were ringing, and it was difficult to see past the blurry, fuzzy haze his brain was in. The pounding at the back of his head forced him to sit up slowly and rub the goose egg he found at the pain's source. Bringing his hand back into sight at least confirmed to him that he wasn't bleeding. He pushed himself up to stand, wincing at the pain in his tailbone as he did so. He must have landed on his tail wrong.

Then, when he saw the collapsed building and column of smoke rising overhead, he remembered.

"Oh no."

What remained of the restaurant Suzy had been hiding in was reduced to nothing but a charred pile of smoking rubble. The roof had collapsed, all the front windows were shattered, and although the outer walls still stood, they looked feeble and shoddy compared to the proud, tall-standing businesses surrounding the block.

Unable to move faster than a hobble, PJ approached the wreckage. "Hello? Is anyone there?" He called out. "Tui? Willy? Eliot? Make a sound if you can hear me!" He coughed as he hit a wall of smoke, ducking to get through the debris that partially blocked what remained of the entrance. Inside, the air was thick with smoke. PJ had to squint and cover his bill to breathe. The smoldering heaps he could make out looked vastly different from the quaint little arrangement of tables and chairs that had occupied the room earlier, making the pit of his stomach drop. He finally detected the charred-black stump of a human body and crawled closer, fighting more coughs.

The mangled carcase was burned to a crisp. He couldn't even tell whose face it was when he pulled off the combat helmet and visor to gaze at his fallen soldier. The combination of smoke and pain for his loss made PJ's eyes glaze over with moisture. Wordlessly, he laid his teammate's helmet back in their lifeless arms and scurried back the way he came, as he was starting to cough uncontrollably.

PJ clambered his way through the debris and back out onto the pavement, collapsing onto all fours when he was free of the smoke. Still hacking some, a few rare tears managed to escape him and splat against the ground. He had failed his team. Now that they were gone, PJ realized he barely even knew them. The only time he had ever spent with them outside of work had been that one time they went out for drinks, when he got thrown out of the diner. Come to think of it, he had never served with a finer team of agents. They deserved better than this. Even Eliot, for as annoying as he could get. They had never pranked or teased or bullied him like the cadets did back at the academy―and while that was partially because he outranked them, there was something else. It had always been different. His team had respected him in a way nobody else he'd worked with had; not OWCA, not the Secret Service.

And now he'd led them straight to their deaths.

Picking himself up to turn and look at the collapsed structure, PJ wiped his eyes and saluted. It was the only thing he could think of to do.

 _Was Suzy even in there?_ he wondered morosely. Something told him she wasn't the type that would go and blow herself up.

Dropping his salute, PJ perceived out of the corner of his eye that the extraction car his squad had arrived in was idling nearby. He made his way for it, climbed into the vehicle, and punched the thrusters. Overriding the self-driving feature, he climbed into the sky and sped straight for HQ and his nearest time machine. There was still a chance to fix everything.

A plan was quickly formulating. He'd go back and stop himself from sending his unit into that restaurant. No dilly-dallying, no vague predictions about how everyone was about to die, like his time clone had given him. Why couldn't he be more specific? That fool, PJ ironically thought, knowing that he was only name-calling himself. It would have taken all of two seconds to say, 'hey, don't go in that building, it's wired to blow and kill your whole unit.' How easy would that have been? But no, his time clone had to equivocate. PJ shook his head angrily. He wasn't going to make the same mistake again. As soon as he got to the time machine, he'd go back and wait for himself to run past that alley, grab himself, and tell him specifically and in great detail what was going to happen, he'd prevent all of this.

His car sped through the air, high above the Anacostia River. He could see the building headquarters not far ahead. PJ began his descent as he approached his destination.

* * *

The powerful, solid-fueled propellants forced the warheads higher and higher, up into the outer reaches of the Earth's atmosphere. The six missiles had separated and spread out; some of them began heading west. Now over 100 miles above the surface of the Earth, the North American continent took up most of the scope of the pale blue sphere far below.

New York. South Carolina. South Dakota. Oklahoma. Oregon. California.

Six targets. That would be all it took to bring the whole nation to its knees.

The East Coast warheads reached their target airspaces first. They climbed higher and higher into the stratosphere, peaking at an elevation of about 120 miles. Once at that altitude, the thrusters shut off, and the warheads arced in space, still bound by gravity to fall back to the Earth―but it was not to be. There, at the peak of their flight paths, they detonated.

Explosions thousands of times more powerful than the bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki briefly lit the sky above the East Coast, but against the glare of the daytime sun, the difference was unnoticeable. In the first 100 microseconds, a massive burst of gamma rays radiated out in all directions, most of them passing harmlessly out into space. The rest of the radiation came streaming down, colliding with the air particles in the upper atmosphere, ionizing the gasses by stripping the air molecules of their electrons. This energy burst, known as an "electromagnetic pulse," forced this cascade of charged particles to rain down to the planet's surface at near lightspeed, where the real damage would begin.

In less than four minutes, the same would happen above the midwest, and three minutes after that, it would happen again on the West Coast.

The downfall had begun.

* * *

Headquarters, Department of Homeland Security  
Washington, D.C.  
Moments before...

James was busy working on the task all interns spend most of their time doing. No, not fetching coffee; the other task all interns spend most of their time doing. That's right―unjamming the copy machine again. He had no earthly idea how there were still so many paper jams in an era when everything was supposed to be sent electronically.

It was a semi-regular occurrence around the office that, when some big news story came on, someone would shout about it, and everyone who didn't have a personal device to catch it on would gather round the breakroom flatscreen to see. Well, the call rang out just then, and James abandoned the copy machine to assume his usual spot in the back of the crowd assembled around the TV set, having to stand on tiptoe to watch.

The channel, as always, was set to WFN News. Instead of the usual attractive news anchor, James recognized the face of the gang leader behind the riots, Ezekiel Okeko, addressing the camera. The WFN News logo was missing from its usual place in the corner of the screen, and the resolution was poor and grainy. It didn't seem like official WFN footage.

"Where is this being broadcast from?" James' boss demanded from somewhere up front, closer to the screen.

"I don't know, sir," someone else said. "The channel is being hijacked, pinging from multiple locations across the Eastern Seaboard. It's playing on all frequencies!"

"Can't you hack the signal and find out where it's coming from?"

"I'm trying!"

"Come on, Sorensen! You're a hacker! What are we paying you for?"

"SHH!" A collective of bystanders hushed, trying to listen to the broadcast. Finally, the volume was turned up loud enough for James to hear from his less than ideal spot, clear in the back.

"―Today is only a taste of what is coming," Okeko said. "My brothers and sisters, if you agree with me, then it is time for you to be properly introduced to my new family. You may have heard about them from the President recently, because we are the only thing the government is afraid of. The people I am talking about, who you may have been brainwashed to believe are a terrorist syndicate, is an organization called the Conspirium."

Okeko's personage faded out, to be replaced by an image of the American flag. The image caught fire and burned away, revealing beneath it a new flag emblazoned with a strange symbol in front of a blood-tinted background. The symbol had the appearance of two touching white circles that overlapped slightly, but had their overlapping lines cut out so that it was one continuous shape, making it in appearance somewhere between an infinity sign and a dumbell. "But we are not terrorists. We only want to take back the power the United States government has claimed for itself, and give that power back to the people. Allow me to introduce a man who can explain everything better than me. You may call him, 'The King.'"

Okeko stepped aside, and the camera cut away to a different location. Now, it was in a small, well lit room with a golden throne, and a man was seated there upon the throne. Its image resolution increased to HD. The man rose as it zoomed in close to his face, where the lights captured and accentuated the sparkle of his mesmerizing emerald green eyes, drawing the viewer in.

"My fellow Americans," The King began...

* * *

PJ marched through the maze of corridors and hallways, taking himself deeper into the belly of the building, toward the lab and the time machine. As he passed the offices along the way, he noticed a group gathering around the TV set, riveted on the news. He was in a hurry, so he almost blew past them, until the face that was speaking on the screen made him stop and do a double take. It was what he said, though, that really caught the platypus' attention.

"Allow me to introduce a man who can explain everything better than me," Ezekiel Okeko said. "You may call him, 'The King.'"

Rooted to the floor, PJ watched, stunned, as he recognized the face of Kyle Konig, revealing himself as The King of the Conspirium.

"My fellow Americans," Konig began. "Do not be afraid of us. The President has told you that we are your enemy, but what does she know? She didn't even know George Washington was actually an anti-palindromist! How can she be trusted? How can anybody working for a government conceived by wicked and conspiring men to institutionalize evils such as poverty, inequality, and yes, even anti-palindromism, be believed? A government whose founding fathers were themselves a band of hypocrites! No, nothing good can come from such a government, it must be wholly destroyed! And the Conspirium is here to take its place."

"Sorensen! Have you isolated the transmission source?" a gruff voice barked.

"Working on it, sir!"

"Where's our intern? James, go help him out!"

"I'm on it, sir!" PJ saw a young looking fellow with glasses and a nasally voice extrude from the back of the group and pass him on his way to the nearest computer to begin rapping furiously at the keyboard.

"The purging of the United States will come soon," Konig was saying from the TV screen. "Starting with Washington D.C. My compatriot, Ezekiel Okeko, has hidden a weapon of nuclear capability somewhere inside the Capitol."

A chorus of gasps escaped from everyone in the room, including PJ, who felt a shiver of fear tingle down his spine.

"The nuke will detonate at precisely 8 pm Eastern time tonight, giving plenty of time for the innocent people of the city to evacuate. Do not worry, though; the guilty ones―the politicians who claim the reins of power in this corrupt nation, will have no advantage or privilege in escaping first, the Conspirium has seen to that. For the first time in over two-and-a-half centuries, every man, woman, and child will finally stand on equal ground. Those who are strong enough will survive―only the weak will perish.

"That means the great people of this great country have nothing to fear. The pampered senators and legislators―and yes, even our President―who are weak and fattened from living off of _your_ hard work, they will probably not make it."

PJ had heard enough. He broke himself free of his paralyzed state and rushed for the lab, which was just down the hall. This had to stop, now.

Konig's voice followed him from every computer screen and monitor in every cubicle he passed. "However, the Conspirium stands ready to help all who will come and join us. When the Apocalypse arrives, come and find us. We will provide safety. We will provide protection. We will give you everything you deserve. To both those unable to escape the Capitol on their own, and to all the citizens of this nation in the coming crisis: our centers will be set up in every city and county across this once great land, from sea to shining sea, standing ready to assist you. I promise you'll be able to find us."

PJ reached the lab, entered the security code, and wrenched the door open, wasting no time in approaching the time machine at the center of the right-hand side wall. Behind him, the door swung shut, cutting off Konig's voice. The Department of Homeland Security's full-size time machine looked much sleeker and more advanced than the one back at the Danville Museum, which Suzy had used earlier that summer to go back in time. It was more spherical in shape, being closed off by a large windshield, rather than having an open cockpit.

Back out in the office suite, Konig extended his hands from his sides towards the camera, palm up, and concluded his speech. "In the new world that is about to emerge, I am The King. I will see to it that you will be fed, protected and provided for. All I ask in return is your allegiance. The Conspirium has a place for you, as long as you bow down to me. We are ready to receive you with open arms." For those who were still watching, The King pointed a ringed finger heavenword. "The revolution starts now!"

PJ opened the pod door and entered, immediately sitting at the control panel and punching in a few instructions. Nodding to himself when he had the desired input blinking back from the display cursor, he extended a hand to the big, circular button that would start the device.

Everything went dark just before he pressed it, followed by the sound of the engine fizzling out.

"What just happened?" he asked, unable to pierce through the blackness that was pulled over his eyes like a heavy shroud. He hadn't moved; something was wrong. Instead of the familiar _pop_ and undulating sensation that accompanied the psychedelic change in scenery customary to slipping into the timestream, he heard and felt nothing. He moved his hands, feeling around―tried adjusting some dials, flicking switches, hitting buttons. The clicking sounds of their physical mechanisms were all he got in response.

"No! No! NO!" He pounded on the dashboard in frustration. "This can't be happening! I need you to work, dang it! Work!" He punched the power button. "Work!" He hammered it again. "Work!" This time, he kicked it so hard, it caused a fleeting pain to shoot up his ankle.

He cursed, uttering a string of choice words he would not have wanted Marie to hear him use, grasping his shin while he waited for the pain to subside. After taking a deep breath, he felt for the button that opened the automated door, and upon pressing it, nothing happened. He punched the button again, same result.

"This stupid thing must have an emergency release somewhere," he muttered, rubbing his hands around the outline. He found something like a crank and pulled on it, which made a sound like a popped soda tab. He tried the door again, and it swayed open at his touch. However, there was still oppressive blackness. No light was coming from the lab's overhead bulbs. No light was coming from anything, anywhere.

PJ extracted his communicator. It's display didn't instantly activate like it should. He flipped it open and tried accessing the touchscreen, but the device didn't respond in the slightest.

Still unable to even see his own hand in front of his face, PJ stumbled through the pod door and around the workbenches, feeling around for a possible flashlight. He found his way to the far wall and oriented himself, knowing the door was somewhere to his left. He put out a hand and started feeling his way that direction.

When he reached a solid surface, he slid his hand up, feeling for a light switch, and immediately located it. Out of habit, he flicked it a few times, but nothing happened. From there, he found the door, and pried it open to let himself back into the hallway.

It was just as dark out here as it had been in the lab. From where he stood, he could hear incessant chatter coming from the direction of where everyone had been gathered.

"Hello?" he called.

"Hello?" somebody unexpectedly close echoed back. PJ did not recognize the voice, since he did not work directly with anybody in this floor's department.

"What's happening?" PJ asked.

"I don't know. Must be a power outage?"

"My watch would still be working if this was a power outage," another, rather nasally voice said. "This has got to be an EMP attack."

"A _what?_ " said the first voice.

Even though his eyelids felt like they were already strained as wide as they could go for trying to see in the dark, PJ felt them widen even further. _An EMP, that explains everything._ He silently cursed again.

"Does anyone have some matches?" he yelled, trying to be heard by more people further back in the office. "Or glowsticks? Something nonelectric?"

"There should be some glowsticks in the lab," said the nasally voice, "but if the electricity is out, there's no way to get inside the magnetic lock."

"Then it's a good thing I'm propping open the door to the lab right now," PJ said, just barely catching the door by his tail before it swung back shut behind him.

"Okay, I'm coming to you. Stay there."

The first voice strained helplessly. "Wait, what's an EM-thing or whatever you called it?"

"An EMP―electromagnetic pulse. It's a huge surge of charged particles that wipes out everything that runs on electricity. _Everything._ " The nasally voice was slowly inching closer to PJ from somewhere around his ten o'clock.

"Yeah," added PJ, "and most likely, it's at least city-wide, if not worse." As he contemplated everything the Conspirium had done today, he calculated that chances were high it was worse.

There was a training PJ had attended a few years ago where he learned about EMP's, one of the most potentially devastating strikes America's enemies could inflict upon the country. As one threat-assessment paper had put it, in a worst-case scenario, '...Adversaries may aptly consider [a] nuclear EMP attack a weapon that can gravely damage the U.S. by striking at its technological Achilles Heel, without having to confront the U.S. military.*' He'd even heard talk that there were now some nuclear weapons built specifically to amplify the power of the EMP they released, creating a so-called super-EMP that had improved range and strength. They were supposed to be so powerful they could even wipe out all the backup supplies and replacement parts stored by the military in an underground bunker at Peterson Air Force Base, located under Cheyenne Mountain, the headquarters of NORAD.

PJ prayed that wasn't the Conspirium's plan.

"How close am I to the door?" the voice asked.

"Almost there," PJ answered. "Follow the sound of my voice."

"Your voice sounds like it's coming from the ground…" the voice pointed out. A pair of eyeballs floating in the darkness cartoonishly appeared a few feet above PJ's head.

"I'm Agent PJ, the platypus."

The eyeballs directed downward. "Oh, nice to meet you. I'm James. The―uh, intern. Ah, found it."

PJ felt something like a hand applying pressure to the door, then sensed James the intern's movement as he entered the lab. After listening to him rummage about for a minute or so, James gave an "Aha!" and PJ heard some cracking noises; apparently he was activating the glowstick.

"Oops, no, that was just a pen. And now I think my hands are covered in ink. Maybe this drawer, then?" he said, accompanied by the sound of more cracks. "Yes, here they are! We'll have some light in a minute."

PJ could already see a faint pink glow peering through the darkness. It was joined by two more dim pink blobs, agonizingly weak, yet growing slowly brighter with each passing second. The intern must have found several glowsticks. James tossed PJ one, who caught it easily.

"So now what do we do?" asked the third voice, which had found them by what little light they had.

"We need to evacuate the building." PJ took charge in a commanding voice. "Follow me, let's get all these people out of here."

With that, he led the way towards the growing murmur in the office. The glowstick gave him just enough light to see where he was going and avoid bumping into objects. PJ inserted two fingers into his mouth and whistled shrilly, holding his fledgling light high to get everyone's attention.

"Hey people, people!"

The room went silent quick, and PJ felt more than saw all eyes fall on him.

"We found a couple of glowsticks, let's quit the bickering and get out of here, huh?" he said in a loud voice.

"What's going on?" someone asked. "Why aren't our phones working?"

"We believe the Conspirium has targeted us with an EMP," PJ explained. "So no electronics will work. No phones, no flashlights, nothing. If anyone has matches or a lighter, those could help, just please try not to burn the whole building down."

A few small flames from lighters flickered into view after he said that. PJ cleared his throat.

"All right, listen up. The Conspirium claimed there is a nuke hidden somewhere in the city. We need to evacuate this building and get everyone to safety. Let's all proceed to the exit in a calm and orderly fashion. Those who have lights, hold them up so others can follow you."

"Where are we going to be safe if a nuclear bomb is about to go off?" someone whined. "And how are we getting there? If there really was an EMP, all transportation is down."

"Are your legs broken?" PJ asked rhetorically.

"Who put you in charge?" someone else asked. "Who are you, anyways?"

Losing his patience, PJ was almost ready to say screw it, take his glowstick, and leave them all behind, when the intern spoke up.

"C'mon, guys, do what he says," James implored. "It's just until we all get out of here."

Somehow, that was enough to get everyone moving. Or at least, PJ could hear a lot of shuffling and movement. The glowstick was getting bright enough to show him a lot of faces, but they all looked the same: confused, afraid, scared.

"James, you go stand in the middle over there, so people have light into the hallway," PJ ordered.

The intern nodded and did as he was told. PJ watched the faces file past him, some giving him curious looks once they were close enough to see he was a platypus, others seemingly just glad to be moving towards a goal. They moved slowly, with arms out, feeling their way ahead of them, except when they were close enough to one of the glowsticks to see by.

When he could see the last few people passing, PJ called out, "Is that everyone?" Once he was satisfied that everyone on this floor was accounted for, he brought up the rear, using his light so they could see out ahead.

And so the group proceeded slowly toward the exit. As they progressed, a bend in the hallway ahead projected a dim but encouraging amount of sunlight shining through some windows. Eventually it was enough light to see by, and they made it to the staircase, only to be slightly delayed when James absentmindedly tried calling the elevator before remembering there was no power.

The staircase was windowless and dark, but by now everyone knew the drill, and the group quietly descended to the ground floor. The main lobby was quite populated by windows, and allowed lots of sunlight in, so the group easily made their way out the front doors from there.

PJ called for the intern as they approached the exit. "James!"

"Yes?" James held up and waited for him to catch up.

"There's got to be more people stuck on other floors. Use these to look for others." PJ handed him back his glowstick. "Take some volunteers out of our group here, and get the building completely evacuated."

James accepted. "Okay." The two of them were the last to reach the main entrance and make it outside. The front courtyard looked like it always had, sunny and wide open, with lots of space. In the crowd, there was a tangible mood of relief and joy at making it this far.

"What about you?" James asked, turning to the platypus.

"I―" PJ started, not sure what he was supposed to do now.

Then he saw it.

Others had seen it, too. They were pointing at it, talking about it. James noticed their stares, and turned to see what it was.

Somewhere, behind the dead and lifeless shells of buildings and the stalled vehicles on the road, there was a light, a beacon, that nobody had ever seen before. Bright, pulsing rings of light rode a pale blue photonic column upwards into the heavens, and clearly visible from every direction inside the holographic projection was the image of the Conspirium's flag.

* * *

 _WFNnews_net, 14:02 EDT, 09-28-2049_

 _Breaking news! EMP attack strikes East coast! Millions are without power! The only way to protect yourself and your loved ones is to join the Conspirium!_

…  
 _European News Outlet_

 _At approximately 14:09 EDT, communications with the American West Coast went dark, just as they did in the Midwest and Eastern Seaboard minutes before, due to multiple confirmed high-altitude nuclear EMP bursts. We can only assume these attacks are related. An unconfirmed conspiracy group known as 'The Conspirium' has claimed responsibility for the EMP's. Millions of casualties are expected, but with no communication, there is no way to know what is going on now inside the United States._

* * *

 ***As quoted from the "Commission To Assess The Threat To The United States From Electromagnetic Pulse (EMP) Attack," July 2017**


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

 _He was sitting in a classroom, the only anthropomorphic animal of all the cadets. The instructor lashed out with his telescoping pointer wand to slap the projector screen, grabbing the cadets' attention._

" _Here's your Reader's Digest version of what to expect from a potential EMP attack," the instructor barked. "In a worst-case scenario, America's enemies could detonate one or multiple nuclear warheads at high altitudes, thereby affecting most or all of the continental US. The first casualties would come when the EMP knocked out the controls of every airline cruiser, passenger plane, helicopter, and flying automobile that gets caught mid-flight, sending them crashing to the ground. Most flightless cars would instantly stall and die as well, wherever they happened to be. Across city roads and highways nationwide, there would be tens or even hundreds of thousands of accidents. In only a few minutes, there could be something on the order of a half a million dead, depending on the time of day. If it happens during rush hour or a holiday, you could multiply that by several factors._

" _Next, with hospitals across the country suddenly losing power and having no working back-up generators, patients relying on constant life support would quickly slip away. Another few thousand lives lost."_

 _PJ felt a crumpled piece of paper hit the back of his head. He snapped around, glaring at the snickering cadet a row back who threw it at him. The instructor slapped the screen loudly again, forcing them both to look back at the lecturer._

" _Ahem. Now then, in the interim, the overwhelming majority of civilians have little to no concept of an EMP attack, and thus will not know what has happened. Most will probably assume it to be a regular old power outage, that will be fixed within a few minutes to hours. Although they'd be frustrated when their phones, cars, and everything else that runs on electricity simultaneously fails, they'll just think it was a coincidence that ever battery for every electronic device they had simultaneously died. That is what will leave civilians the most vulnerable―their delay in recognizing the situation and taking appropriate actions for survival. That means in most places across the country, very little would happen the first couple hours. Businesses will crawl to a stop. Ground and air traffic will likewise grind to a halt on every street, road, and highway, leaving many stranded, with everyone waiting for someone to come rescue them. Local emergency responders will be overwhelmed. And since virtually the entire nation's infrastructure will need to be repaired or replaced before the lights can come back on, it will take months or even years before a sense of normalcy can be restored. And that's assuming that the worst is over. It isn't._

" _At the approach of sunset, the reality that help isn't coming anytime soon will start to sink in. That's when things will start to really go downhill. If America is hit with an EMP, you can expect nothing less than the eventual collapse of society. Mass riots and looting would begin once it becomes clear that the local police agencies are overwhelmed. It would only take a few days for every supermarket, convenience and drug store to be plundered down to the last bag of rice. The flow of shipments ceasing means food, medications, toiletries, and other basic essentials will be quickly gone in every big city, while piles of food are rotting far away in the countryside, with no way to get to it. As the hunger and panic begin to set in, society will start to break down completely, with violence erupting any and every where. Within weeks, millions will be dying of starvation, disease, lack of sanitation, and from having next to no access to clean water._

" _In short, in the event of an EMP attack, we estimate unbridled chaos to spread across the country in a matter of days. Our entire electric grid is totally exposed, and by and large the population has had absolutely no training or preparation for such an attack."_

* * *

The memories of PJ's training on EMP's all those years ago flowed through his mind while he wandered about the perfectly manicured grounds of DHSHQ, thinking. Funny how at the time, it had seemed like it could never happen.

The question was, how large was this EMP's range? He had no way of knowing if the EMP was localized and only affected just the city, or just New England, or just the East Coast, or if the entire US had been hit. One thing was for sure, virtually all communications would have been knocked out by the surge, so there was no way of contacting anywhere else to find out. And in the end, it didn't really matter how big the attack was. This bleak outlook painted by his presenter back at that training was probably going to be the state of things here, soon. The riot in downtown he'd so far mostly avoided would only spread, being spurred by fear of an imminent nuclear blast.

Which brought him to the more pressing issue. Sure, riots are not good news, but they're nothing compared to a hidden nuke. Depending on where the blast would be centered, HQ was almost certainly within range of the deadly radiation zone, if not close enough to be obliterated by the explosion itself. He was in danger. The people he'd led out of the building by light of a few glowsticks were in danger. A million people living in the metropolitan area were in danger. And above it all, Isabella, Phineas, and Marie were in danger.

There it was, the thing that worried him the most. It was an amazing, yet terrifying feeling. Amazing that only a few months ago, his concern for the President and the First Family came solely from a deep sense of patriotism, not to mention his duty as a member of the Secret Service. It was never anything personal, just his job. Now, it was so much more. They were the three people in the world that meant more to him than anything. But how could he possibly protect them now? He had no transport, and no idea where they were.

He shifted gears and focused on the positives. After all, there was still a glimmer of hope.

His time clone from earlier was the seed of that hope. Somehow, PJ's future self must have found a way to get to a time machine and go back to the past. That meant, for now, PJ was guaranteed to survive whatever was coming his way. It was something he had been trained on while he was in the Secret Service―they called it quantum immortality. He was more or less immortal from this point on, until he went back to the point in time where he delivered that message to his past self. And it was proof that there was still a working time machine out there somewhere, either unaffected by the EMP, or capable of being repaired. He just needed to find it, go back and warn Isabella and Phineas and Ferb about the EMP and nuke, and save his unit from the explosion. Simple enough, except for the small problem that he had no idea where he would find a functioning time machine.

Then he reflected once more on what his time clone had told him. _The Conspirium has a hidden bunker deep in the Appalachian mountains. It has a command center. Get there soon enough, and there's a chance you'll be able to stop the nukes from detonating._

Which led him to the million dollar question. Should he go try to locate and reach the Conspirium's secret command center in the Appalachians? Spend his efforts looking for that working time machine? Or drop everything and go protect his family? His next decision was crucial. He guessed he only had about five hours left before the city went up in a big, fiery mushroom cloud of death.

The Conspirium, the time machine, or the Flynns? Tick tock, tick tock. Every second he wasted deliberating was costly.

After mulling it over for several minutes, PJ decided that by process of elimination, there was only one good option. He didn't know where he could possibly find another time machine, and the chances of just happening on one in working condition in the next five hours were slim. And besides, he knew he was destined to find a time machine at some point anyways, because whatever choice he made already had lead his future self to it. That option was out.

He knew where to find the Conspirium. Their holographic projection in the distance beckoned him to come and challenge them. On the other hand, he didn't know where Isabella, Phineas, and Marie were. He had no transport, no way to find them, and no way to protect them from an atom bomb. He could easily spend the full five hours searching for the needle in the proverbial haystack and never find them, and even if he did, they'd have no way to get clear of the bomb in time. As much as his heart screamed at him for it, the choice was clear. He only hoped it was the correct one, the one his future self had already made.

He punched a nearby marble plaque so hard it hurt his knuckles. "I'm sorry, Marie," he whispered aloud, pushing down the painful lurch in his stomach before turning to face the beckoning pillar of light created by the Conspirium. "This is the only way."

* * *

The city was eerily quiet. There were no cars, flying or driving, no bustle, no traffic. There were no distant boomboxes loudly playing music. No airplanes or flying taxis zooming past overhead. No road construction. No lights in any of the businesses. All the traffic signals were dead. Cars were left abandoned in the middle of the road where they had stopped. It made the songs of the birds distinctly more noticeable, twittering in the background. The only movement was the people out walking by the hundreds. All converging on one point, the same place PJ was going.

The only place with power.

The Conspirium tower.

It looked to be about fifteen stories tall. Not extremely big, had this been the downtown area, but on this side of the river, that made it the tallest building for blocks and blocks around. It was easy to find, as the holographic column of light rising from the roof made it impossible to miss. In fact, whenever PJ passed an open, flat area offering a view of the rest of the city, he could make out a good half-dozen or more identical beacons spread out across the city. No doubt to invite the population in for the protection the Conspirium promised.

PJ couldn't help but be impressed by the sheer magnitude of organization and resources the Conspirium must have had if they were planning all this. How many other cities across the nation were being taken over the same way?

As he neared the tower, more and more people thronged together in the streets, attracted to the lights like moths to a flame. He was a few hundred yards away when he started to hear loudspeakers repeating the same commands over and over again from the direction of the tower, reminding him of Disneyland:

"Please proceed calmly to the front of the line. Please do not push or shove. Please have your identification ready. The Conspirium's teleporters are functioning at 100% capacity. All hail The King. Please proceed calmly to the font of the line…"

Without any semblance of a plan in mind, PJ zigged and zagged through the legs of the ever thickening crowd until he was close to the front gates. The entrances were slotted to divide the line and move things quickly along. Past the gate, the lines filled the small courtyard up to the entrance of the tower. He couldn't quite get a view of the inside from here.

All of a sudden, PJ felt himself being grabbed from behind.

"Mommy, look! A puppy!"

He was being carried by two stubby little arms. PJ squirmed and writhed. "Hey, put me down, kid!"

"Oh, how cu―" the child's mother said from somewhere overhead, until PJ looked up, and she got a better look at his distinctly non-canine face, causing her to change words mid-syllable. "―Rios."

"Okay, I've had enough of this," PJ said, slightly irked, fully knowing that the word she had elected not to use was 'cute.' He wiggled his way out of the kid's arms and pushed himself away.

"Bad doggy!" the kid said, sticking his tongue out as PJ shuffled off, never giving them a second glance.

He started making his way clockwise around the perimeter, looking for a way he could sneak in. The fence appeared to wrap all the way around, the metal bars of which were too close for even him to squeeze through. Higher up, it was topped by curls of barbed-wire, so he couldn't climb it, either. PJ swiveled his eyes, searching his surroundings, looking for anything that could help. The only thing that stood out was the apartment complex next door. It was tall enough, PJ thought.

He ascended a fire escape along the outside of the apartment building to its highest point, three stories up. That put him higher than the Conspirium tower's fence and able to see over it. He extracted his grappling gun and aimed at a ledge on the opposite tower, then squeezed the trigger.

Nothing.

Rats. His grapple had been knocked out by the EMP, too. He inspected the gun more closely, noting a screw connecting the barrel to the handle. He looked through his pockets for a tool that could fit it, finding a flathead of about the right size. It would have to do, as flatheads could still manage on a Phillips head screw.

Once he had the barrel off, he looked inside, and could just see the tip of the grapple jammed inside the canister. He used his screwdriver to wedge it out, surprised at how easy it was to disassemble. Soon, he had the grappling hook and wire freed from the canister. He looked back down at the fence, realizing that he'd have to cast the grappling hook over it himself. PJ carefully looped the wire neatly around his arm, then, making sure he had the other end of the wire in hand, he swung the grapple and rope above his head like a lasso before launching it over the wall.

The grapple caught on a window ledge a story lower than him, on the second floor. PJ secured his end to the fire escape and, after testing his knot, slowly crawled out onto the line. He double-checked his surroundings, but there didn't appear to be anyone watching this side of the tower, so he started sliding his way across the wire.

It didn't take long to reach the other end. PJ deftly pulled himself up onto the window ledge and, finding it unlocked, he slid it open enough to slip inside. Before he finished, he unhooked his grapple and flung it back across, doing his best to hide his tracks by getting it to land back on the fire escape.

The room he'd broken into appeared to be an ordinary office. There was a desk with a computer, a chair, some filing cabinets, and various run-of-the-mill decorative plastic plants and paintings. An overhead fluorescent light and the low, rumbling background sound of the air conditioner confirmed that this building had power. The Conspirium must have reinforced the surge protectors of everything inside, or something. Moving to the door, he cracked it open and peeked down the hallway. A brief glance showed that the lines of civilians continued in the hallways. Preferring to remain undetected, he quickly shut the door and stepped back, looking around the room. An air vent positioned in the corner drew his attention. It was small, but so was he. He removed his combat gear, stripping down to his fur. With that, he pried the grate open, folding his garments to hide them inside the vent before entering himself and propping the grate shut behind him.

As had been his experience on many occasions, the vent was just big enough for him to crawl through. He made his way forward, barely able to see from the dim light peeping through the grate behind him. At length, he reached a junction, and chose the direction the flow of air was coming from. He crawled along this way, passing several grates as he went, where he could catch glimpses of what was happening.

From what he could see, the lines of civilians all led to different teleporters scattered throughout the building. Standard teleporters, as invented by Phineas and Ferb, with a portal thingy that you would step into and come out of another portal thingy on the other side. PJ had heard Phineas joke on one occasion about how redundant it was that you had to take another portal thingy to where you wanted to go first, so you were already there, rendering the whole thing useless. Kind of a weird joke, PJ thought. Phineas had a strange sense of humor, sometimes.

As he looked through one grate, PJ found an especially good view of what was going on. He could just make out what was being said in the nearest conversation when he paused to watch.

"Ammon Delgado," a man declared to a receptionist seated where one of the lines came to a head. When PJ leaned sideways, it gave him a good enough angle to see the man was holding his wife and two small children close. "We'd like to go to Austin, Texas, my wife's parents live there."

The receptionist cross-checked the man's identification on a small flip-open laptop on her desk. After a deliberate pause, the receptionist dispassionately said, "Have you signed the forms, pledging your allegiance to the Conspirium?"

"Yes. Please, we just want to get out of the city," he begged.

After another labored pause, the receptionist finally gave him back his papers and flashed him a warm smile. "Very well, it looks like you are cleared for teleportation evacuation. Please stand over there, and a staff member will show you to your teleporter shortly. NEXT!"

From his viewpoint, PJ curiously watched the Delgado family do as they were told. They were put in a short line leading to one of the eight teleporters in the room. The line moved quickly, as it only took a minute for the Conspirium worker controlling the teleporters to redirect to another portal destination for the next person in line.

When it was the Delgados' turn, their Conspirium worker gave them an obviously memorized script, again reminding PJ of Disneyland ride workers. "Please proceed to the teleporter, only one person can use the teleporter at a time, please keep your arms and legs inside the teleporter at all times, you will be met by a Conspirium associate at your destination, all hail The King!" PJ watched the father embrace his wife and reassure his kids before stepping into the portal, then the mother sent her two children in one by one, then finally went through herself. And then the worker adjusted a few dials on the side of the device, before inviting the next party forward.

PJ decided it was best he move on.

* * *

And so it went. Every floor, PJ saw more of the same thing. There were hundreds of teleporters filling dozens of rooms in the tower. Anyone who pledged their loyalty to the Conspirium were allowed to leave the city. He climbed up any shafts he could find, only to watch this process repeat itself, for floor after floor. The Conspirium was helping to evacuate the city? Why? They looked prepared to evacuate everyone, millions of people, if they had this same setup in enough towers across the metropolis. In the back of his mind, he couldn't help but wonder what the Conspirium would do if President Isabella Flynn and the First Family showed up, asking to take a teleporter out of town.

He must have been in the air vents for close to an hour, and he hadn't found anywhere yet that wasn't full of people. He'd lost count of what floor he was at and was starting to worry if this had all been a big waste of time. The shaft he was climbing now felt like the hundredth one today, but he was sure he was getting close to the top of the tower. If he didn't find a place he could sneak out of the ventilation system undetected soon, he contemplated the possibility that he would have to make a run for the closest working teleporter. Where would he go if he did? He hadn't planned that far ahead yet.

When the shaft leveled out, he crawled forward toward the closest patch of light he could find and looked out the grate. Finally! What narrow section of hallway he could see from his vantage point along the ceiling appeared to be empty. He shimmied the grate open as silently as he could and double-checked that the coast was clear before leaping out of the air duct.

Only then did he realize the hallway offered no cover. From the thin, tiled blue carpet up to the ceiling, he was out in the open, and the air vent was too high up for him to climb back into. Fortunately he was alone, for the moment. Out of options, he picked a direction and made his way quickly down the hallway. His ears picked up some voices from somewhere close; PJ pressed himself flat against a wall and listened. The voices didn't seem to be getting closer, so he carefully crept forward.

The sounds were coming from a door a few feet ahead, he discovered. The door muted most of the sound, but the empty hallway was so quiet, he could pick out a male and a female voice. He tiptoed closer.

"...before you deliver the package," said the female voice. It sounded very familiar.

"It shall be done, Miss Johnson," said the male voice.

"Thank you, darling!"

PJ recognized that voice now. It was Suzy's! He pushed his ear against the door, holding his breath. Unfortunately, that seemed to be the end of the conversation, and he heard the distinct _bzzt!_ of a video call closing. He waited for a few seconds to see if anything else would happen.

His patience was rewarded by another video call being made. This time, a female voice that was definitely not Suzy's answered. "What'd she say?"

The male voice spoke. "She says to reject Senator Delitzsch and his wife. So long as they, or anyone else, refuse to renounce their loyalty to the United States, the Conspirium has no place for them. Throw them back into the streets. Make a big scene of it, if you can, to show the people what happens if they choose not to accept the Conspirium's absolute authority."

After affirming her orders, the female voice ended the call, giving PJ an opening. Deciding to take the least subtle approach, he knocked and quickly flattened himself against the wall behind the door hinges.

The sound of footsteps approached before the handle rattled and the door swung open. The male voice's owner wore a confused look as he glanced up and down the hallway, finding it empty. PJ, hiding unnoticed between the door and the wall, waited for him to shrug and close the door back shut before immediately rapping on it again.

The door flew open this time. "Who's doing that?" the man shouted, stepping completely out into the hallway. Now PJ was able to get a better look at him. He was an older gentleman, dressed in an expensive business suit. This time, he had the awareness to check the space behind the door.

PJ timed it perfectly. "Hi!" he said the moment the man discovered his presence, and, using that split-second of inevitable surprise caused by seeing a talking, anthropomorphic platypus to his advantage, PJ had the man pinned against the floor, craning his arm behind his back before he even realized what had happened.

With the Conspirium suit pinned, PJ made sure no one else was in the office before pulling the man's arm further back, increasing the strain on his shoulder. The man cried out in pain.

"Ow! Stop, please! I beg of you!"

PJ let his grip loosen a little. "Well, well, well. If it isn't Senator Cash. I should have known President Flynn's biggest critic was in deep with the Conspirium."

"And I should have known the President would send her pet to do her dirty work―YOW!"

PJ leaned down closer to the Senator's ear and growled, "You do not want to test me today, Senator!"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I take it back!" the Senator sniveled. PJ took his time relieving the pressure, reveling in letting the man writhe. "Please, I'll give you anything you want, just let me go! I have money! How much do you want?"

"Shut up!" PJ was aware that the Senator was making a lot of noise, and he did not want anyone else coming to investigate what was the matter. He dropped Cash's arm and started dragging him by the suit collar back into his office. Cash grimaced and rubbed his shoulder as PJ doubled back and locked the door closed behind them.

"Now then," PJ said, turning around to face him, "I'm thinking of a number between one and two hundred and six." Cash gave him a confused look from where he lay on the floor, so PJ clarified. "That's how many bones you have in your body. How many will I have to break before you tell me what I want? Pick a number between one and two hundred six." He took a menacing step forward.

The Senator shrank back, scooting himself on his rear end across the floor, until he had backed himself into a wall. "Wait, wait, stop!" He held out a hand, using the arm that PJ hadn't twisted around.

"Pick. A. Number." PJ advanced.

"Zero! I pick zero!"

PJ grabbed him by the hand he held out. "I said a number between ONE!" He twisted a finger, feeling it snap. "―And two hundred six!"

Senator Cash howled and cradled his hand.

PJ let him moan and whimper for a minute while he inspected the office. It looked very similar to the room he had entered earlier. He leaped up onto the desk and activated the Experience Wall facing facing him. It turned on at his touch, and he hit the command bringing up the device's call history. At the second-to-top of the list read the name Suzy Johnson, although the accompanying location was blocked.

"Thought of a new number, yet?" PJ asked, leaving the screen as it was.

Senator Cash's breathing was labored. "One," he moaned.

PJ hopped off the table, stooping down to bring his eyes level with Cash's. "Okay. Let's start with Suzy. Where is she?" He pointed at the screen.

Cash followed his finger to the Experience Wall. "She's at the CCC―the Conspirium Command Center."

"The one in the Appalachian mountains?"

Cash's eyes widened. "You know where it is?"

"I'm about to." PJ grabbed Cash by the wrist to go for another finger.

"No, please!" Cash defensively yanked his arm away.

"Tell me!" commanded the platypus, cocking a fist.

"I'm trying, if you'd just stop threatening me for five seconds! Alright? It's in the Shenandoah Valley. At a place called Button Creek!"

PJ looked the Senator over for any signs of a lie. Satisfied, he stood up straight. "What about the bomb? Where did Okeko put it?"

"I don't know, we compartmentalized that information. I didn't get it. I'm telling the truth!"

"In that case, you're quickly running out of usefulness to me. I might as well put you out of your misery right now…" PJ hinted, cracking his knuckles.

"No!" recoiled Cash. "I can be useful! I can―I can let you use one of our teleporters to get out of the city! It's getting kind of late for hoofin' it, you know. Unless you're a lot faster than you look."

PJ huffed at that. "What about a time machine? You got one of those stashed in here somewhere?"

"No, we don't. Just teleporters."

"Still not making yourself useful."

Flabbergasted, Senator Cash said, "I offer you money, I offer survival, what else could you possibly want?"

"Look, I'm not the kind of person who cares about money. I only care about two things: my family and my country. And the only way to save both of them is by taking you, and the rest of the Conspirium, down!"

Cash forced a considerable laugh, despite the pain he was in. "You and what army?"

PJ glared. "Don't underestimate me."

"Oh, yeah? Is the little platypus going to charge straight into the CCC all alone and sting our entire military garrison to death with his ankle barbs?" He forced another laugh.

PJ jabbed Cash's injured hand, and the laughter instantly converted into a howl. "If I have to," he muttered, cocking another fist.

"Stop! Argh, just stop, already!" Cash pathetically cowered over his hand. "Okay? Look, I'll teleport you to the CCC, if that's what you want. Just stop with the hitting!"

PJ lowered his fist. "Now we're getting somewhere."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, PJ stopped at the door to look back and admire his work. Senator Cash was bound and gagged in his desk chair and looking very irate. After a bit more coaxing, the Senator had been kind enough to give PJ the coordinates as well as inform him of a more discreet teleporter here on this floor that was supposed to be for the higher-ups in the Conspirium, like himself, and wouldn't be as crowded as the ones PJ had passed earlier.

Finally, PJ held in his hand the coordinates to the secret base compound the Conspirium had been operating from this whole time. Ideally, if he had a time machine, he would go back to the past and give the location to his past self so he could have all the resources of the Department of Homeland Security at his disposal for storming the compound. But, seeing as that just wasn't an option now, he had no choice but to go in alone.

There was no doubt it would be well guarded. The Conspirium had demonstrated they had vast resources. He had no intel, no plan, and no back-up. And with only three hours left before the nuke went off, he didn't have time to go get any.

After locking Cash inside his office, PJ quickly found the teleporter and punched in the coordinates. The metal ring crackled to life as the portal opened before his eyes. PJ took a deep breath and stepped up to the hoop-shaped device.

And prayed that the Quantum Immortality theory was true.


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Somewhere in the Appalachian mountains  
September 28, 2049

 _BZZT! ZOWOWOW!_

PJ emerged from the teleporter and found himself in a windowless, concrete room. The lone fluorescent light overhead tepidly threw the multitude of storage containers, steel drums, and wooden crates scattered about in mild relief. Somewhere out in the unseen, a soft and steady _drip, drip, drip_ of water could be heard echoing throughout the chamber.

"Welcome back, Senator Cash," a cool, artificial voice said. PJ jumped behind the nearest crate, but nobody was there. Then he realized it came from the teleporter itself; must have been the computer.

He started making his way forward. The room was a cul-de-sac, around twenty-five yards in diameter, with a dead end at the portal behind him and the only door straight ahead. PJ made his way towards the door, but as he was reaching out to grab the handle, he paused and listened when he thought he heard something from the other side.

"Yeah, we'll get him," he heard a burly male voice say. "We'll get him, good." It was unnervingly close. PJ quickly dove behind another storage crate just in time, right as the door burst open from the outside. Heavy, loud footsteps, belonging to a multitude of people, filled the room.

"The platypus is here, all right," another deep voice pointed out. "The portal is still glowing. Sounds like Suzy was right."

"Okay, we spread out, we find him!"

"Here, platypus, platypus, platypus, platypus…"

By this point, PJ had scurried behind a shelf loaded full of cardboard boxes in the shadows on the outskirts of the room. Peeking out from his hiding spot, he counted at least ten men, all armed with automatic rifles, start to fan out and search the room. The last man in barricaded the door with a plank of wood before joining them. He was trapped.

His heart was hammering. One of the guards was coming directly for him. PJ forced himself to take a deep breath and hold it while he ducked behind a box, carefully tucking in his tail so it didn't give him away. Footstep after footstep, the guard slowly traipsed along, until he was past, and PJ softly exhaled.

He remained there for a minute or so, while the guards slowly finished their first sweep of the room.

"Where is he?"

"He's gotta be in here somewhere! Look harder!"

"Do you think he's wearing an invisibility box?"

"Suzy said the EMP would have knocked out all his gadgets. He's a sitting duck!"

Just then, a loudspeaker near the ceiling flared noisily, and PJ instantly recognized Suzy's voice. "Have you bunch of useless lowlifes found him yet?"

"Not yet, uh, ma'am!" one of the guards replied.

"Well, keep looking!" Her voice turned from deadly to honey. "PJ, I know you can hear this! Why don't you just give up already! Can't you see? We know your every move, down to the last detail! So be a dear, won't you, and just let one of my men shoot you in the head. Please? Pretty please, with a cherry on top?"

PJ plugged his ears to resist her hypnotism, and fortunately, the PA system went silent after that. However, the sound of Suzy's voice reignited the fire in his resolve, and he looked around to try to make a plan. He started by checking what was inside the cardboard box he was hiding behind, and when he realized what he'd found, he couldn't believe his good luck.

"Hey, what are you doing?" one of the guards said.

"With a cherry, huh? Alright, I'll do it, Suzy…"

"No, you idiot! She meant the platypus! Not us! We're not supposed to shoot ourselves in the head! Snap out of it!"

The hypnotized guard had to hit himself upside the head to clear it. "Oh, man, you're right! What was I thinking?"

"C'mon, man! Get your head in the game! Don't let her get to you with her mind tricks!"

"Hey, you two! Quit yer yammerin' and get back to searchin'!"

It was a little big for him, but he'd manage. The box PJ had checked contained two sets of night vision goggles. He tightened the strap and tilted one of the goggles up onto his forehead, then looked up, realizing he needed to kill the light for them to be effective. He dug into the box for the other set of goggles before checking to make sure he wouldn't be spotted, cocked, and threw the headpiece far across the room.

It shattered loudly when it hit the floor, and the head of every guard turned to look in that direction, away from PJ.

"Huh? What was that?" one of them shouted.

"Let's check it out!"

PJ quickly climbed the shelves like a ladder and mounted the top of the case. From there, he leapt onto a stack of wooden crates and pulled himself higher. The hanging fluorescent lights were dangling in the space just above him, and slightly offset from the crate he stood on. He would have to jump for it.

Taking a moment to gauge the height and calculate his momentum, he took a couple of steps and jumped, reaching out for the ledge.

"It's a broken set of night vision goggles," the guard who was closest announced once he found the mess. "Do you think it fell off of something?"

"I don't know, man, it could've been him."

"What would a platypus use night vision goggles for?"

 _This,_ PJ thought, hanging from the fixture, as he yanked the bulb out, flooding the room in darkness.

"Whoa! Hey, who turned off the lights?"

The bulb burned his fingers, causing him to reflexively drop it. The glass shattered upon impact with the concrete floor.

"He's messin' with the lights!" shouted one of the guards. "Shoot him!"

PJ dropped to the floor as the room exploded in gunfire. While it wasn't totally dark due to the glowing lights emanating from the teleporter, it was difficult to see anything that wasn't immediately basking in the glow. He pulled down the goggles and slipped into the shadows.

After ten seconds, the gunfire stopped. "Do you think we got him?"

"I don't know, I can't see diddly squat in here."

"I'll go look for a body."

One of the guards crept toward the center of the room. After stepping out of the way of the portal to let the light shine on the broken glass, he kneeled down to look closer. "I don't see―!"

A few seconds passed without him finishing his sentence. "What's going on over there?" someone asked. Two more guards had approached the center of the room by now.

"Oh, crud!" one shouted. "Hey everyone, get over here! This guy's out cold!"

"Huh?"

The rest of the group converged on him. "Oh, man, what happened to him?"

"He looks like he got hit by a truck!"

"The platypus is trying to scare us! What's the matter, too scared to come out and face us, chicken?"

From his vantage point on a double-stacked pile of crates, PJ watched them slowly start to disperse and restart their search. Three were going right. Two were going left. Two more headed towards the other end of the room, away from PJ, and two more started creeping his way. He lowered the goggles back down and looked for a point he could ambush them.

There was an aisle between the storage shelves and a stack of drum barrels that they were moving towards. PJ leapt from his vantage point to the far side of the barrels to double back behind them once they passed. He crouched down and waited, peeking through the gaps in the barrels to see when they were far enough along. Once he was certain he was behind them, he crawled to the corner and took a peek. They were moving single file, facing away from him. He crept up and pounced on the rear guard, landing on his shoulders so PJ could squeeze his legs around the man's neck, choking him out, while grabbing his rifle out of his hands to make sure he didn't fire it. Unable to make a sound, the man quickly lost consciousness, and PJ leapt off his shoulders, taking with him the guard's rifle, as his body collapsed to the floor.

The noise made the other guard turn around and look. PJ swung the rifle at his head with a _thunk_ , knocking him out. His rifle clattered to the floor.

"Did you hear that?"

PJ dropped the rifle, since it was too big for him to shoot with anyways and very heavy, to scamper back into the shadows before anyone came to investigate.

Within seconds, four other guards had converged on the two unconscious bodies. "He did it again! How's he doing this?"

"I don't know, I thought he was just a platypus! They don't get big, or anything, do they?"

"I don't think so."

Suzy's voice erupted from the rafters. "Did I hear correctly that he's already taken three of you out? And not in a nice, dinner and a movie, kind of way!"

"We're sorry, Miss Johnson!"

"Sorry doesn't cut the cake! What do I have to do to get you to kill him already? Double the reward money? Triple it? Get back to work, and find that platypus!"

"You heard the lady! Spread out, search every nook and cranny!"

 _And then there were seven,_ PJ thought smugly.

Continuing with his plan to take them out one by one, PJ scanned the room with his goggles to locate the most isolated guard. He picked the best one, and zig-zagged his way through cover to get closer. The man had picked an empty aisle lined by storage crates on both sides. PJ climbed the tallest stack of crates so that he was waiting overhead as he passed down under him. Waiting until he was directly below, PJ then leaned forward, using his weight to throw the whole pile off-balance. It teetered, and the movement caused the guard to look up, but it was too late. PJ leapt from the stack as it fell and buried the guard.

"What was that?"

"Another one of the platypus' tricks?"

"Is everyone okay?"

"Forget this! It's every man for himself!"

"Keep it together! He wants you to get scared!"

"Well it's working!"

PJ picked out the voice that just spoke to go for next. That guard had backed himself against the left-hand side wall, cornering himself. PJ easily snuck up on him, because the man spent more time checking over his shoulder than he did actually looking where he was going. As soon as he was ducked in cover just a few feet away from the man's ankles, PJ waited for him to glance over his shoulder again, timing it just right. The moment he did, PJ swept out from his cover and used his favorite takedown move, sliding between the man's legs while grabbing his ankle, throwing his feet out from under him. The guard splatted against the hard floor, and PJ was already on top of him, quickly pounding his head into the ground to knock him out like the others.

One of the guards had heard him, and PJ dove back into hiding as he came running to see what happened. The machine separating PJ and the guard appeared to be a small crane, probably for use in moving things around in this storage room. The crane's big, iron hook dangled motionlessly about twelve feet in the air, giving him an idea. He looked for the control panel as the guard found the unconscious body of his comrade.

"Oh no, not good! Hey everyone, he took out another!"

By some cartoonish good luck, the guard was standing directly below the crane's hook. PJ found the lever holding the chain lock and pulled it. The hook dropped in free-fall, clunking the guard on the head and knocking him out, too. The crane automatically started reeling back in the chain under its own power, and somehow, the hook caught the guard by his belt, pulling him up into the air. When he eventually came back around, he was going to be waking up to a nasty wedgie.

Suzy fired up the intercoms again. "All right, who's still left in there? Anyone?"

"Me."

"I'm here."

"Me too."

"And me."

"Really? There's still four of you left? C'mon, PJ, hurry up and finish them off already, so you can go and spring my next trap! Haha ha ha!"

"She-she didn't mean that, right?"

"Hey, clam it, or we're dead, you hear me?!"

"Yeah, man, we still got this! There's still four of us, and only one a' him!"

"Yeah, but there used to be ten of us and only one a' him!"

"Ooh, look who can do math, now!"

"Listen, quit your whinin', think positive. My life coach always used to say nothing is impossible if you have a positive attitude about―hrmf!"

"Huh? You still there?"

"..."

"Oh no, not you too!"

"Where are you, platypus? This has gone far enough!" _Bang! Bang! Bang!_ The thug began shooting into the darkness.

"Yeah, come out here and show yourself!" _Bang! Bang! Bang!_

After the gunshots ended and everyone paused to listen, one said, "You think we got 'im that time?"

"I don't know…"

" _Argghhh!_ "

"Who's screaming?"

"Hey, look up there! How'd he get up there?" The henchman in question was dangling by his heel from the ceiling.

"Help, quick! Cut me down!"

"Are you crazy? Look how high up there you are! You really want us to cut you down?"

"Ugh, no. You're right, it can wait."

"Flip, I can't do this, man, I can't do this! I'm getting out of here!"

"You're leaving? Hey, wait for me!"

The remaining two henchmen ran for the door, unbolted the barricade, and skedaddled. The door opened to a small, lit hallway with a single elevator. The first grunt punched the call button and trained his weapon on the door.

"We'll be back, you filthy platypus, you hear? You'll pay for this!"

BOOM!

An explosion from somewhere above rocked the room, causing everything to rattle. The sound of wrenching metal raked their ears, then the elevator careened down the shaft and shattered upon hitting the ground, punching a hole in the door and kicking up a cloud of dirt.

PJ didn't hear any more sounds after that.

After a minute, the dust settled, and he carefully made his way to the exit and looked at the carnage. The two henchmen were dead, pierced by shrapnel from the elevator cage. The loudspeakers flared up again, breaking the silence.

"Looks like those fools ruined the trap I set for you, PJ," Suzy cooed. "Oh well. With the elevator down, I guess that means you're stuck down there. Too bad, so sad; I'll send somebody to come fetch your body in a few weeks."

PJ had come too far to give up. He climbed through the wreckage to get to the elevator shaft and looked up into the dark space overhead. The night vision goggles he wore gave him a clear picture of the cut stone, the ascending beams of wood that were progressing into the beginning stages of rot, and the remnants of iron scaffolding that had supported the elevator. He really wished he still had his grappling gun, as that would have made this a lot easier. Huffing, he began to climb.

* * *

After prying open the sliding door and emerging from the top of the shaft, PJ found himself at the end of an isolated, poorly lit hallway. He snuck along the corridor, listening for any signs of more Conspirium guards, but it was very quiet. Not far down the hall, the space opened to his left into a vacant parlor. Empty chairs and tables were strewn about. There was a bar at the far end, across from which a couple of luxurious couches were laid, close to the exit. After confirming there were no signs of movement, PJ headed for the door and pushed.

Outside, the harsh rays of the sun forced him to blink and wait for his eyes to adjust. A grassy green landscape of trees and shrubs dominated the immediate scenery before him, partially obscuring the view of the valley below. The fresh, leafy smell of the outdoors greeted his nostrils, orienting him to his natural surroundings. He could feel more than see the incline in elevation as the ground swelled in the direction of the building he had teleported to, and continued to rise beyond it.

A dirt road led from where he stood down into the valley in that direction. In the opposite direction, it circled past this first building to continue climbing up the hill towards a half-dozen other concrete structures, looming over the thinning trees further up the mountain. He couldn't spot any activity from here, so he started walking. The hill was somewhat steep, but not too taxing compared to having just climbed an elevator shaft. Otherwise, the dirt road made the trek easy enough.

He had been hiking up the path for perhaps five minutes when he heard a car engine catching up on his rear. PJ quickly hid in the foliage as an armored jeep rounded a bend into view, rolling amicably through the brush. It passed him at a reasonably low speed as the road was narrow and there were lots of small tree branches in the way. The moment the jeep was past him, PJ jumped onto the spare wheel hanging from the back end, ducking to keep out of the driver's sights. There he stayed, hitchhiking the rest of the way up the mountain path.

They reached the clearing for the Command Center in no time. The other buildings were clustered much closely together than the one he had come from. Huddled together like they were their own small industrial district, they were nestled in a flat area where the ground became paved. Sticking to his cover behind the jeep, PJ scanned the area. The compound was fortified by a perimeter of chain-link fence topped with barbed wire, the only gate being, so far as he could tell, the front one. He could see quite a few vehicles inside, including some outfitted for the military. There was lots of movement on the ground, with dozens of armed guards keenly watching from their posts. When he glanced at the sky, he could make out the silhouette of a security drone, resembling the visage of an eagle or hawk to the untrained eye, circling directly above the compound. As he observed, one steel building in the back of the compound stood out as the biggest, most high-tech of the bunch. If he had to guess, that one was the Command Center. The only question was, how to get there?

The jeep rumbled up to the gate and stopped, where it was shortly met by two armed guards. PJ ducked again as the driver produced his identification and papers.

"Just delivering the last order of backup electric parts," the driver yawned.

"Hold on one moment," one of the guards said as he returned the paperwork to its owner. "We're on extra high alert right now. Suzy just issued a warning that The Platypus will be attempting to infiltrate the compound soon. Can you step out of the vehicle while we take a closer look?"

"S'pose I might as well," the driver said, lazily stretching as he exited the jeep.

The guards circled the jeep, inspecting every nook and cranny. PJ, who by this point had scurried underneath the jeep to latch on by the undercarriage, watched their big, black combat boots crunch the gravel beside him.

Finally, the boots turned around to march back to their post. "All clear," the guard said. "Open the gate!"

The jeep pulled into the compound and meandered over to park in a shady spot. When the driver killed the ignition and opened his door to get out, PJ was already standing in the way, whereupon he proceeded to kick it back in on the man, clobbering him in the head and knocking him out.

* * *

Five minutes later, with the driver still out cold and tied up in only his underwear in the back of the jeep, PJ was wearing his button-up military uniform shirt, visor, key card, and belt. He looked himself over. "Oh, who am I kidding, this disguise is never going to work," he whispered out loud. The pants were too big to even bother trying to wear, and the steel-toe boots were out of the question. The flaps at the bottom of the shirt were freely dangling, which looked outrageously sloppy; meanwhile, his tail stuck out in the back. His camo hat kind of concealed his face if he pulled the visor down, but did nothing to help disguise his duck-like beak.

Just when he was about to tear the whole disguise off and think of something else, a voice yelled, "Hey, aren't you the delivery guy? We've been waiting all afternoon for the replacement spark plugs and batteries so we can get the rest of the trucks back up and running! So hurry it up, will ya?"

PJ froze and stared at the guard who discovered him.

"Say, aren't you a little short to be a delivery driver?" the man asked, skeptically.

Frantic, PJ stuttered. "Uh, well, y-you know what they s-say, the shorter the d-delivery driver, the―um, you know… The less gas mileage it takes. Right. You know, b-because he's lighter?" He held up his arms in a hopeful shrug.

"Oh, yeah, I guess that makes sense," the guard said. PJ exhaled in relief.

"Well, I gotta go to the bathroom," PJ forced himself to continue in what he hoped was a convincing act. "Long drive, you know. But don't open the jeep until I get back," he added when the guard reached for the handle to the backseat door, "because―the AC's out, and it's really hot in there, so I wouldn't want you to have to deal with that." PJ pushed him away by the kneecaps. He was inwardly cringing at how bad he was at lying, but it seemed to work, as the guard began walking away.

With that problem taken care of, he strolled in what he believed to be an amiable gait away from his parking spot and headed straight for the Command Center. Despite his nervousness, the other guards didn't give him a second glance. It was almost too easy. _How do people still fall for this,_ he thought. _And they call themselves the dominant species on the planet._

His bravado was short lived, however, for when he swiped his card key across the outdoor security panel, it failed to give him access to the Command Center. He gave it a few more tries, to no avail. Now stuck, standing conspicuously at the sliding glass entrance, he had no idea what to do next. He took a few steps back for a look at the bigger picture. Perhaps there was a way he could sneak in, like he had back at the Conspirium's teleportation tower. Before he could get a good look, he noticed a bit of movement in the direction he had come from. A few of the guards were running towards the jeep he'd snuck in by, rifles drawn. He turned to walk in the other direction, hoping he wouldn't be noticed.

"Hey, look! There he is!"

"It's The Platypus! Get him!"

PJ glanced over his shoulder to see one of the guards pointing his rifle his way, heard a gunshot crack, and felt something whiz by his ear. He broke into a run for the next closest building, kitty-corner to the Command Center. More bullets nicked the ground at his feet. He heard someone shout, "Don't let him get away!" as he sprinted for the front door. It didn't have a security panel out front, but if it was locked from the inside, he was done for. Bounding the last few steps, he yanked the handle, and was relieved to find the door swing open for him. He leaped inside and slammed the door shut, bolting the lock just before a few more bullets ripped into the doorframe.

Taking deep breaths, he turned to meet the gaze of a handful of men and women in lab coats, most of which were holding clipboards and looking like they had been in the act of monitoring all the electronic equipment occupying the room moments before. They all seemed just as stunned as he was.

"Um, hi," PJ said with his back bracing the door, looking for an escape route.

One of the scientists stepped forward. "And who are you who comes barging into our workspace while being shot at?" He had deep lines etched in the sneer on his face, was bald and bespectacled, and had a unique accent that PJ couldn't place at all. Sighing, the platypus shrugged out of the shirt and hat disguise he was wearing.

"PJ the Platypus!" Every scientist in the room shrieked in unison.

"Huh, I should have known Suzy would have LOVEMUFFIN working for her too," PJ reminisced aloud.

"Get him!" shouted the one with the strange accent. "We'll capture him and offer him as a gift to Suzy, or my name isn't Orville Aloyse Everheart―hey!" He pulled the shirt PJ threw at him off from over his face, and looked to see the platypus had disappeared down the hall. "After him!" he commanded, and the other evil scientists obediently extracted various evil sciencey-looking weapons from their lab coat pockets and gave chase.

BAM! The door was kicked open by the guards outside. "Outta the way, freaks!" one shouted, attempting to push his way through the evil scientists.

PJ raced past the first room through a set of double-steel doors that took him to a sort of factory floor. The large space had conveyor belts running all throughout it, connecting the dots of haphazardly placed machines, grinding gears and belching out cardboard boxes. PJ climbed a short flight of stairs onto the catwalk above and sprinted down the narrow metal walkway, pushing anybody in his path out of the way. He reached a corner and turned, only to find a couple of evil scientists blocking his path. They leveled their ray guns in his direction, ready to fire. He jumped from the catwalk, narrowly dodging two green laser beams, and landed on one of the conveyor belts.

At that moment, a metal arm reached out from the space above him. PJ reacted just in time, rolling out of the way, and the robotic hand scooped up nothing. Looking up, PJ saw the arm was connected to a humanoid robotic exoskeleton. The robot's face looked like a grinning human skull with glowing red eyes.

The leader of the evil scientists, Orville, shrieked, "Terminate the platypus, my robotic terminizor!" The robot raised a fist, and PJ dove out of the way to avoid being smashed as it brought it down on the conveyor belt, leaving a small impact crater.

PJ tried to run in the other direction, but was cut off by several laser blasts sparking in front of him. He turned around and slipped through the robot's legs, barely avoiding its hands which tried to grab him. The robot chased him through the foundry floor, occasionally getting hit by lasers, which didn't seem to do any damage to its exoskeleton. PJ weaved through the maze of conveyor belts, the robot right on his tail every step of the way.

Seeing a gap in a handrail too small for the robot to fit through, PJ dove between the bars and crawled to a small space blocked off by a metal grate. The robot tried to reach through the bars for him, but the best it could do was scrape the ground just inches away from his huddled body. Looking up, PJ discovered that the handrail blocked off access to a hydraulic press. The robot was wiggling its way through the bars, inching closer to him, bending the steel bit by bit to reach further. PJ reached his hand through the metal grate, trying to find the button to activate the press.

The robot's cold, mechanical hands were starting to brush against his skin. PJ squished himself against the grate, reaching with all his might for the button. Just as the robot grasped his ankle, PJ pressed it, activating the hydraulic press. A warning buzzer went off, and the robot looked up in time to see the hydraulic press come crushing down on its chromium-coated body, compressing it to mush. All that remained was the robot's outstretched arm, hand wrapped around PJ's foot. He kicked it away and rolled out of the gap.

Picking a new path, he climbed back onto the nearest conveyor belt, running in the same direction as it was moving, to pick up speed. He sprang over the cardboard boxes like stepping stones, while more bursts of light sprayed around him from the laserfire. One hit so close that the cardboard box he'd just leapt from burst into flames behind him. The conveyor belt was taking him to a portal draped in translucent plastic strips. He slid through the chute and into cover.

"He's headed to the packaging room! Let's cut him off!" someone could be heard shouting. PJ didn't have time to think about that before he was plopped onto a sliding gurney, along with the surrounding cardboard boxes. He slid and fell onto a pile of such boxes, breaking his fall. He quickly brushed himself off and got up to continue running when something caught his eye. In the next pile over, each box had a distinct label stamped on the cover with big, bold, red lettering: _TNT_.

* * *

"I found him! He's this way!"

PJ looked over his shoulder and confirmed he'd been spotted. Wasting no time, he dropped what he was doing and ducked behind cover, barely making it before the guard's bullets nicked the handrail. He was back above the factory floor, now running along the catwalks in the direction of the entrance. His webbed feet pounded on the metal, grid-patterned walkway. As more bullets and lasers showered the handrails around him, PJ blessed his luck, for his stout height meant that the guards on the other catwalks didn't have a clear shot. Instead, the bullets and lasers passed harmlessly by over his head as he took the front staircase three steps at a time, and with that, he made it to the double-door entrance and sped through to the small laboratory. Out the front door he sprang, into the open, not knowing whether he should expect more resistance or not. He simply charged ahead with his head down, dropping the detonator he had just activated.

The charges in the explosives he had planted inside the foundry ignited, and a quick succession of booming concussions and flashes of light rippled through the factory.

 _You blow up my people, Suzy, and I blow up yours._

It wasn't as large a fireball as he'd expected, as he'd only had time to place a couple of C-4 packets, and the factory was expansive. A couple of holes were ripped in the roof, but the structure still stood, fairly recognizable. He wasn't even blasted off his feet by the shockwave. The handful of guards that had spotted him outside, however, were caught off guard by the explosions. Rather than send him another volley, they raised their arms to shield themselves from the blast, allowing him a chance to escape. PJ sped back in the direction of the Command Center, diving into a hedge bush near the entrance to hide.

Dozens of more personnel were flooding into the courtyard now, from every building, curious about the explosions. Mostly more guards, but a few nonmilitary persons as well. As the central gathering space filled, the onlookers rushed to help as the foundry erupted in a spectacular maelstrom of fire such that PJ could feel the heat from this distance. A fire must have reached the remaining explosives, and it rocked the valley in another concussive shockwave. When PJ was able to open his eyes again, all he saw that remained of the structure was smoke and rubble.

His poking may have sent the hornets' nest into a massive frenzy, but PJ felt immensely satisfied seeing the looks of distraught on every Conspirium face. The people frantically ran about, and in the pandemonium, he was able to sneak up to the sliding door panel entrance of the Command Center. A band of guards were rushing out, which failed to notice him, and once he had waited for the last of them to pass by, he slipped inside as the door panel slid shut behind him.

He was in. If Suzy and Konig and some way to disarm the bomb back in Washington were anywhere, they were here. He was sure of it.

He was standing in the foyer of a vast and luxurious lobby that could rival any of the finest hotels in the world. All the furniture, carpets, the high ceilings and chandeliers, the adornments and paintings, were all clearly the best money could buy. This wasn't what he had expected of a command post or HQ. It was more the type of place the ultra rich would go for a vacation. It reminded him of some of the fancy meeting halls he'd visited, where the President would meet with foriegn dignitaries, while he had been in the Secret Service.

It appeared that he was alone here, so PJ advanced warily through the front hall. As if on cue, a gigantic television screen taking up most of the wall to his immediate left lit up at his presence, catching his attention. He glanced at the picture and instantly recognized the image: a bird's eye view of Washington D.C. Holding his gaze, a timer in the corner of the screen ticked away the seconds.

7:59:58 pm...

7:59:59 pm...

8:00:00 pm...

A flash of white light engulfed the screen, and a second later, the feed died into nothing but a blizzard of static.

"NO!"

PJ put his hands up against the screen and stared blankly at the field of white noise. Letting his eyes drop to the floor, his face scrunched up in pain, he balled his fists and pounded on the plastic cover. The weight of the world depressed on his shoulders all at once, and he fell to his knees. It was over.

"Ahahahaha!"

A flipboard behind the wall rotated the TV screen away from PJ and replaced it with a normal wall. Recognizing that laugh, his gaze lifted up to see none other than his great archnemesis, Suzy Johnson, standing above him, in the flesh.

"Oh my, come to beg from me, have you, PJ?" Her eyes gleamed behind that plastic smile. "Very well, if you prostrate yourself before me and renounce the United States, and dedicate yourself to the Conspirium and The King, I might listen."

Blood boiling, PJ climbed to his feet and took a defensive stance. "Never."

Suzy could see the anger gushing from his bloodthirsty eyes. "Now now," she said, "you aren't angry about that footage, are you? Because you can relax, the bomb hasn't gone off yet. That was only a recording from the future."

Inwardly, PJ sighed with relief, but Suzy pulling a stunt like that only made him more angry. "You'll pay for that!" he seethed through gritted teeth. "No more games! It's just you and me!" With that, he lowered his stance and prepared to attack.

Suzy didn't even flinch. "But don't you want to know who the mole on your little task force was?" She tilted her head and grinned when PJ froze in his tracks.

"What did you just?―no, don't fall for it," he chided himself, shaking his head.

"Oho, that's right! You didn't know one of your own team members was working for me the whole time, did you? Tehehe!"

PJ strained with himself, willing himself to charge. But he couldn't move. Suzy's voice kept echoing in his mind, drowning out his rational thought.

"That's right. The one who activated the bomb that killed them all was―"

"ENOUGH!" PJ fought through the haze that was filling his mind and focused on the rage instead. He launched himself at Suzy, who looked stunned that he'd overcome her full hypnotic powers.

"Impossible!"

She reacted too late; PJ connected with his strike, sending her flying backwards. PJ landed and moved to stand over her. She was out cold. At last, her voice stopped reverberating inside his head. A wave of fatigue flooded over him, and he stooped over, hands on his knees, to catch his breath.

Once he recovered, he borrowed a few velvet ropes from the stanchions corralling the walkways to tie her up with, ripping a strip of cloth from her sleeve to gag her. He checked her pockets and confiscated her security key card as well as anything else she might try to use to escape when she awoke. Next, he hid her in a closet and locked it with the key card. That just left Konig and the bomb.

There was a cramped security desk in the corner of the lobby, and PJ checked its computer files to see if he could use it to locate Konig. Logging on via Suzy's key card, he culled through the data and quickly learned that Suzy's and Konig's rooms were the only ones that were not under surveillance. PJ pulled up the floorplan and looked up the location of The King's room. After quickly memorizing it, he next used Suzy's key card to activate the system's security measures, locking down the building. Now, if Konig was here, he couldn't get out, and none of the guards that were still outside fighting the factory fire could get in.

With that, PJ proceeded to the elevator and took it to the top floor.

* * *

How does he keep managing to do this? How?

The King swiped his key card across the hidden security panel and entered the secret escape passage located in the back of his private room.

The platypus had proven to be a more dangerous enemy than he could have ever imagined. Nothing short of throwing a whole army at him would stop him. How could it be that with over sixty armed men on guard duty, they still didn't have the numbers here at the compound to deal with a single animal?

Because so much of the Conspirium was currently stationed across the nation at Conspirium Towers, the cult was spread too thin. There was simply nobody left to beef up their security any further. And they couldn't wait any longer for more growth, the timeline could only be altered here. There was no other choice.

Reaching the base of the spiral staircase, The King allowed a gentle sigh to escape him. It had taken innumerable iterations to plan everything out. He was so tired from all the time travel, reliving the same day again and again and again, struggling to keep the facts straight each time they tweaked one little part in history. The platypus had truly been a nightmare, obstructing him every step of the way.

Above him, The King heard the click of a lock being picked. A shaft of light could be seen in the dark space capping the spiraling steps. "Konig!" The platypus called his former name. "I've finally found you!"

The man who knew he was destined to rule over all pushed open his hidden backdoor, escaping the compound. Once again, the familiar race up the mountainside was on.

The King battered his way up the overgrown path, and the platypus followed, hot on his trail. A dense patch of thick, green brush with nasty thorns caught at his robes, flaying the expensive gold threads, slowing his movement. He braced against the snag and tugged himself free, tearing his cloak in the process. Onwards he rushed, willing himself to go faster.

Pine trees were everywhere, tall and mighty evergreens that blanketed the steep mountain banks. If his long legs were an advantage in flight, it was nullified by the slope he had to climb almost as it were a flight of stairs. Still, the crunching sounds of his pursuer seemed to fall behind. His goal lay just ahead. Only a few more bends in the path to go, if he remembered correctly. He was close, so close to reaching it―

The King burst into a small clearing. The grove of pine trees on the far side towered into the sky. He whipped around, still panting heavily, drawing his Glock. The platypus had to be close. Squinting down the sights, The King scanned for any signs of movement.

The platypus darted around the final bend and into view. The King pulled the trigger, flinching as the hammer slammed down on the barrel. He had always been repulsed by the weight of the weapon and by the dirty work of killing things himself, and his lack of training showed. He missed his mark, allowing the platypus to dive behind the cover of a big pine trunk at the edge of the clearing, quite unharmed.

Keeping the gun aimed at the base of the tree, The King backed away slowly. The platypus peeked around the left side of the trunk. He fired two more bullets into the tree to force it to retreat again behind it.

"You know, usually, this is the part where the bad guy starts to monologue," the platypus said. "Telling me about their evil plan, about how their tragic backstory set them on a path inevitably leading them along to this very moment."

The King cautiously took another step back.

The platypus peeked around the tree again. He fired one more round into the tree, but this time the platypus swooped out at unbelievable speed, close to the ground and practically on all fours. The King got off two more rounds before a beaver tail swiped across his hand, slapping the gun out of his grasp and knocking it clear across the grove.

As always, The King was ready for this part. He ducked down and used his long legs to sweep the platypus' webbed feet out from under it, sending it tumbling to the ground. The animal rolled out of reach and quickly regained its feet.

In order for this to work, The King needed to get this next part just right.

"Hold it right there," he commanded, disgusted that he had no other alternative but to stoop so low as to attempt to reason with a beast such as this. "Come another step closer, and I'll break this!" He held out a curious, cylindrically shaped object that looked like a pickle jar. It was, in fact, a device known as a cryptex.

"Why would I care if you did that?" the platypus asked.

"Because this cryptex holds inside it the disarming codes needed to defuse the nuclear bomb in Washington. If it breaks, a vial of hydrochloric acid will destroy the codes."

The animal's eyes narrowed on his outstretched hand. "Give it to me!"

"Humf." The King did not take orders from anyone. "Take a moment to understand the delicacy of this situation, if you can. If you take this from me by force, the glass vial will burst in the struggle. That fact is certain, I used a time machine to witness the outcome. In another outcome, one where I give you this," he shook the cryptex, "when you fail to solve the riddle, you will resort to violence yet again, and the same result will occur."

A grimace crossed the platypus' face. Then, it returned to neutral.

"Go ahead, then. Smash it."

"Huh?" The King gave a confused look. "Okay, I really will do it!"

Walking over to the digital tree that hid the entrance to the Conspirium's underground bunker, known as the Command Center or CCC, The King gently swung the cryptex in a practice attempt before resuming eye contact with the platypus. "Here I go."

"Do it," the platypus said coldly.

With that, The King smashed the cylinder against the tree, letting his palm naturally rest on the biometric scanner in the same motion. He gave a soft chuckle, which rose steadily in volume until it culminated in a guttural laugh that boomed across the meadow.

"You really expect me to fall for a trick like that?" The platypus smiled, confidently. "Suzy just used almost the exact same thing not fifteen minutes ago. Those probably weren't really the codes. And even if they were, you just admitted you have a working time machine. That's all I need to stop you and everything the Conspirium has pulled off today―huh?"

The platypus shot a surprised look at the digital tree, which had just vanished to be replaced by the visage of a tiny shed. The King continued to cackle unapologetically as the door slid open, allowing the soft glow of the interior lights to outline his silhouette. "Haha haha! Thou art the fool! In a contest of battle, you may be able to best me, again and again. But in a duel of intelligence, you could never have stood a chance! Mwahaha! After all, what chance does a stupid animal have of outsmarting a man like me, the one who is destined to be The King?! Fuha haha!"

A dark shadow swept over the face of the platypus. Its body began to shake as it clenched its fists tightly and gritted its teeth. The King felt a powerful aura emanating from its body, unnerving him enough that he halted his laughter.

"DON'T. CALL. ME. A. STUPID. ANIMAL!"

Berserking, the platypus charged at The King, summoning the entirety of his strength in an all out attack. The air immediately surrounding him crackled electrically. The ground trembled under his webbed feet. His warcry sounded through the valley as a rumbling belt of thunder. He dove at The King, all thought of serving country and saving family swept aside by a single, dominating emotion: hate. Coiled and ready to strike, he sailed through the air to smite his foe―

The King casually stepped aside.

Missing his target, the platypus landed hard on a metal staircase and tumbled down its length, end over end, collapsing in a crumpled, bruised heap at the bottom.

"Just as I planned," smirked The King, as he regally paced down the steps.

The platypus painfully struggled below him, trying to get to its feet. Then glancing to its side, it saw the time machine The King had been using for so long to perfect all his plans. In no hurry, he watched the wounded animal limp to the machine, open the door, and clamber in. Slightly bemused, he stared on while the platypus pushed itself to the controls as the door slid shut automatically. Before it could even settle itself into a seat, the time machine popped out of existence.

"At last," breathed The King, in a most dignified manner, "at last, I have fulfilled my destiny. The dream of my forefathers has become a reality!" He reverently approached the portrait of his ancestor, Major John Armstrong, Jr. "There is finally a King in the land, and the legacy of George Washington has been besmirched. The day you always hoped for is here, and your bloodline shall rule for a millennium, great-grandfather." For a moment, he slightly bowed his head.

* * *

The maidservants knelt in a single row at the feet of the stairs leading to the throne, their proper place, having not been given a command.

"Your plan to defeat the platypus worked extremely well," The King whispered in Suzy's ear as she humbly prostrated herself at his throne. "It only needed a few iterations to perfect, it was stunningly brilliant."

"Thank you, O King," Suzy said, hiding her face by looking at the floor. How silly of her; even after all these years, she still couldn't stop herself from blushing giddily when he praised her like this.

"For such good work, you are to be rewarded." He took his second-in-command by the hands, raising her to her feet, before dropping himself to one knee. "Suzy Johnson," he raised his voice, "your King is in need of a Queen. Will you do my bidding this last time and fill my new kingdom's most important duty?"

Gasps rang from the other servants at their feet, who lifted their heads in surprise and amazement at this new development. Suzy pretended to be surprised, choosing to act the part even though she knew this was going to happen, having already visited the new future herself.

She composed herself with all the dignity and grace a soon-to-be Queen should have. "Yes," she cried, unable to hold back her tears of joy. "I will! I will do anything you ask of me, my love!"

* * *

 **As an American, this time is, for me, one of thanksgiving, and I just want to say how thankful I am to all of you who are reading! Please enjoy the next installment in a week, and the one after that, as updates will be every weekend from now until the story is finished! That's right, the long waits are over!**

 **In case some of you are interested, this chapter was heavily influenced by a video game I'm particularly fond of - no, not Pokemon, I play other games besides that, you know! Anyways, lots of inspiration for the early parts of the chapter came from the Arkham Batman games. I was also pleased to include an homage to the Terminator movie. I probably don't need to say it, but Under Absolute Despotism shares a lot of plot elements with Terminator. It seemed fitting that I pay my respects somehow to the franchise I copied so inadvertently. And by inadvertently, I mean just that - inadvertently! Really!**


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The United North American Kingdom  
2142―About 93 years after the downfall of the United States

He'd been thrust through the timestream before he had even activated the time machine, he knew that much.

The machine must have been preset.

PJ checked the dashboard. He had been sent very far into the future. That was bad. To travel so far required a lot of fuel―yep, the tank was now empty. He'd have to find somewhere to refuel and take himself back to 2049. Groaning and wincing to his feet, he let himself out the pod door and stepped into a grisly, nightmarish world.

Thick layers of brown, hazy smog smothered out the sun, turning the world a dull, ashy gray. He found himself in a lightly forested area, except that the trees were all dead and withered, choked by the smoky sky. It was chilly. Small piles of sooty snow could still be seen in the shadows of rocks and knolls that never received much warmth or light. The air he breathed felt dead, smelled of decay. He could detect no signs of life in this place, whether flora or fauna.

As he investigated his surroundings, he came to hear a soft trickling of water. Following the noise, he located a muddy riverbed that was dangerously close to drying up. The murky little stream was not quite five feet at the widest and probably no more than ankle deep.

"Hello?" he tried. "Is anybody here?"

In answer to his call, he heard a new sound. Looking up, he spotted a small group of strangely shaped hovercraft in the distance, heading his way. They were moving quickly, soon, he could make out their shapes. The strange machines resembled flying motorcycles, with each vehicle carrying two riders. He was about to shout and wave his arms to get their attention when he saw a familiar symbol painted on the sides of the hovercraft―the Conspirium symbol, with its two white intersecting ovals. PJ cursed and concealed himself behind a half-buried stump on the muddy riverbank while the airships descended on the location of the time machine.

Turning to watch through a gap in its decaying brambles, PJ observed. The hovercraft alighted softly and a dozen or so humans disembarked to begin investigating the site. All of them were wearing thick brown coats and visors that shielded their faces, gloves and long brown or dark-colored pants, and big boots. Each was armed with a futuristic looking weapon that didn't match any firearms PJ was familiar with, although they did look somewhat like modified versions of advanced submachine guns.

"So this is the time machine that caused the anomaly our scanners picked up," said one of them.

"Yeah, but there's no one here," another responded.

"That's fine, makes it all the easier for us to pull the thing apart and sell it for scraps!"

"But I thought our orders were to destroy any time machines that we find?"

"That's true, but they didn't tell us _how_ we should destroy it, now did they? What's it to Colonel Henshaw whether we destroy it one way or another? At least we can make some moolah on the side!"

"Hey, that's a good point, yeah!"

"What about whoever was operating the time machine? We're also supposed to take anyone who's from the past as prisoner."

"Fine, Bradley. You take that lot, and go search for the time travelers. The rest of us will scavenge what we can from the time machine, then destroy whatever's left."

PJ ducked out of sight as a couple of the Conspirium soldiers spread out to search the area. Behind him, the noises of tools took over the ambiance of the previously quiet scene―hammering, drilling, things being torn apart and thrown to the ground. Trying to fight so many with no weapons was suicide, but he'd come too far and worked too hard to get his hands on a time machine to let them destroy it now. He stood up to get ready to attack the Conspirium soldiers, then winced at the reminder that he'd just minutes ago taken a nasty spill down a long staircase. He collapsed to his knees, groaning.

"Hey, what's that?"

PJ froze. Two of the soldiers were lazily approaching him. He tried to push himself upright one more time, and just then, he had a better idea. Instead of rising to his feet as usual, becoming bipedal, he remained in a crouching stance and crossed his eyes before turning to the sound of the crunching boots coming his way. He looked up curiously at the soldiers, now standing over him, and chattered mindlessly. "Grdrdrdrdrdrdrd."

"What? In the world? Is that thing?" one of them asked the other.

"I have no idea. I've never seen an animal like that before in my life!"

"It looks like a beaver, but don't beavers usually have buck teeth? And why does it have duck feet?"

"It's a―beaver… duck… thing?"

PJ absentmindedly scratched an itch behind his ear with his webbed hind foot before dropping on his side and rolling in the mud.

"It looks like he's not scared of people; let's take him home as a pet!"

"Wait!" The soldier held out an arm to stop his companion. "You know what? It's probably a mutated beaver! The radiation in this area must have caused it to grow deformities like that!"

"You're right! On second thought, I don't want a radioactive beaver-duck."

With that, the guards turned and left. As PJ shook the mud off, the pit of his stomach dropped. _Radioactive? That means…_

That explained why there were no other living things around and why the soldiers had all come decked out in post-apocalyptic steampunk overcoats and visors.

Like an army of ants dissecting a dead grasshopper, the soldiers had already disassembled the time machine and taken whatever they wanted. The scouts that had been sent out returned and reported their fruitless search.

"There's nobody here. We searched the surroundings and didn't find anything except a weird, mutated beaver-duck."

"Well, they couldn't have gotten far. We'll sweep the area aerially and if we don't find them, then they're as good as dead anyways. The radiation levels are still high. Nobody could survive out here for long."

A few minutes later and the soldiers were wrapping up their work. PJ had given up on trying to fight them now. He sat on his haunches doglike along the riverbank and watched them throw all their gear back into their hovercraft before climbing in themselves, leaving nothing but a few bits and scraps of the time machine behind. The airships then zoomed into the air and circled around a few times before turning back the way they came, eventually disappearing behind the horizon.

Now he knew all his worst fears had been realized. The Conspirium had won. They had changed the future, and the nuclear bomb in Washington had destroyed his country. The fallout of the bomb must have devastated and irradiated the landscape around him―assuming there weren't other nukes that had been detonated in this alternate timeline as well. If history had indeed been changed, anything was possible. The whole world could be completely different from the one he used to know. And now, he once again had no time machine to go back and stop everything from happening.

It was all over. He was stranded, marooned to the future. PJ hung his head in defeat and shame, wallowing in the muddy riverbank like the stupid animal he was.

* * *

He'd sat there feeling sorry for himself for a while before his survival instincts started to kick in, telling him to move. His wilderness survival training had taught him that lost people tend to walk downhill because they were frightened and afraid and didn't know what to do, taking the path of least resistance. He didn't feel afraid. He felt dejected and defeated. There was no point to his life anymore, but his survival instincts clashed with that notion. He was also surging with hatred for the Conspirium. _The Conspirium._ That―that stirred something deep inside. They may have beaten him. They may have done everything Suzy proclaimed they would, and overthrown the United States. But he could still do something. He could still fight them. He couldn't stop them anymore, but he could get revenge.

He decided to cling to that thought. He needed to survive so he could have his revenge. That thought filled his mind, pushing him up, willing him to move on. The Conspirium soldiers had flown off in the same general direction the stream flowed. Maybe they had an outpost somewhere downstream. He would go and harass the Conspirium just like he did not an hour ago. No―like he had almost a hundred years ago.

And so he began to follow the river as it wound its way down. As long as he stayed out of the deep mud, his progress was easy enough. With nothing else to do, his mind drifted to everything he had lost. Marie, Phineas, Isabella, what had happened to them? Did they make it out of the city safely? Where did they go to hide from the Conspirium? Did they fight back? Where were they now? Were they still alive, somewhere? It was unlikely, even Marie would be well over 100 years old by now. He probably wouldn't even recognize her if he saw her. If she was still alive.

He walked and he walked, without resting, for hours, until the day steadily grew dark and turned into night. At this point, he was becoming very tired, very hungry, and not to mention a little cold. He decided he should stop and rest when it was becoming too dark to see well enough to walk. The mud was cold, but when he tested the water's taste, it felt warming to him. He waded into the center of the stream, which had grown enough now to be deep enough to for him to swim in, and felt heat reentering his body. He hadn't felt a sensation like this in a long time. The water wasn't actually warm, but his fur was better at retaining his body heat in an aquatic environment. Yes, this was his natural habitat, and it somehow rejuvenated him, like coming home after being away for a very long time.

He swam around in the darkness and was surprised to discover a sense he forgot he had. The long dormant endoreceptors in his bill were picking up weak electric currents in his surroundings, and if he closed his eyes and focused hard enough, it almost let him see underwater. Letting his instincts take over, he hunted the sources of those electric currents, surprising himself again when he easily caught a few snails, crayfish, and a plethora of water striders. He'd never eaten like this before, but he was so hungry he gratefully chewed and swallowed everything he managed to catch. After he'd hunted enough to stave away the sharp pangs of hunger, he crawled back to the shore, dug himself a small burrow, and went to sleep.

* * *

He thought he'd sleep better, considering the exhausting day he'd had, but he woke up multiple times to stomach cramps throughout the night. He suspected that drinking the water in this stream was the culprit, but he had no other water source and thus no choice. Eventually, he woke up feeling still very tired, but it was light enough to see by. He forced himself to drink a little more water―but not a lot, to prevent getting more sick―before resuming his migration.

This time, now that the stream had grown enough, he chose to swim, and was astonished he'd forgotten how much more quickly he could move in the water. It felt so natural. The amount of energy it took to swim was so slight and effortless, it felt like moving around after removing a heavy backpack. He could even stop paddling and simply let the current take him along, although he made much better time swimming, and he didn't seem to get tired at all.

This was amazing. He hadn't been in water like this since training in the pools at OWCA Academy. In a couple of hours, he'd traversed many more miles than he had on foot walking all day. The landscape was improving, too. He was starting to see green offshoots in some of the trees. Grass was growing in clumps here and there, close to the riverbanks. He even spotted a few birds. Taking that as a sign that he was at least out of the dangerous radioactive zones, he stopped again at midday to take a nap. When he woke up, he hunted for more food, with less success than he had the night before. His instincts told him that his prey was more active at dusk and nighttime, and could also see him coming when it was light out. So he eventually gave up and continued taking the river to wherever it was leading him.

Having not eaten much for the past two days, by sunset he was feeling more hungry than he had ever been in his life. Even more so than basic training, since OWCA Academy at least adjusted training regiments and meal times to accommodate animal species with extra high metabolisms, like platypuses. So he stopped his travels early to begin hunting, and now that he had a little practice using his electrosensory under his belt, he feasted. The river was much wider and deeper now, and prey was likewise much more abundant here, away from the radiation zone. By the time it was completely dark, PJ had filled his belly on more crayfish, worms, and even a couple of small frogs. The stomach cramps had finally gone away as well, so after he hastily dug out another small but cozy burrow, he slept soundly for the rest of the night.

* * *

The next day progressed in much the same way. He was feeling a lot more energized after having eaten and getting a good night's sleep, and continued following the river at a good clip. The further along he went, the more the flora improved in diversity and appearance. This day, for the first time, he could say that the environment around him actually looked healthy. The trees were in the late stages of bloom, indicating that the time of year was late spring to early summer. Various colorful flowers dotted the riverbanks, improving on the grim color palette of late. It never stopped being overcast, however, and PJ had seen no hint of sun or moon or stars since his arrival.

It was around the middle of the day, as he was leisurely swimming along, when the river passed through a sudden clearing of forest, and there, he saw his first sign of humans. The pasture was surrounded by a zig-zagging split-rail fence, corralling a small herd of sheep and goats to the grazing grounds beside the river. He didn't see any people, but it was proof he was near civilization.

Keeping an eye out as he continued following the river, it wasn't long before he saw smoke rising over the treetops downstream. If he'd finally reached the Conspirium outpost, he was ready. He had the element of surprise, for they'd never expect a platypus to attack them. The anxiety and rage he'd been feeding off constantly since starting his journey down the stream built up in anticipation, pumping him up to fight. He sped along with the current, rounded a narrow bend in the river, and was blown away by what he saw next.

He'd reached a small village, not a military outpost. It was like a painting out of the Renaissance Age. Cobblestone streets and little houses made of timber, straw, and stone filled his view. Horse-drawn carriages ferried people about, people who were mostly wearing plain garb like that of the early American colonists. He was no longer sure if that time machine had sent him forwards or backwards in time.

Confused by the scene before him, PJ approached the shore slowly to take in everything there was to see. For all the hustle and bustle, it seemed to be a peaceful village. A few children were laughing and playing along the riverbank. Women in long dresses sat on their porches spinning cloth using foot pedals and wooden wheels. A group of teenage girls were drawing water from the river using ceramic pots. And yet, here and there he could see glimpses of technology, like the unlit LED display board advertising the local tavern, or the rusty remains of a VW Convertible Beetle that had been stripped of its insides and turned into a decorative planter, with palm fronds and flowers growing out of it. The unique and logic-defying amalgam was perhaps the most singularly bizarre sight he had ever witnessed.

"Did I stumble on an Amish community?" he wondered aloud.

Now that he had found people, PJ stopped to consider what he should do. This was a strange future, and he didn't know anything about the world he'd been taken to. Perhaps he could get information and supplies from this village. That being said, after everything he'd been through recently, he had lost almost all trust in humans at this point. It seemed like everything he'd done, every step he'd taken, had led to another one of Suzy's traps. Was this another one? How paranoid could he be? Suzy was probably dead by now, unless she made it well into her 130's.

As he was pondering this, a tall belltower started to chime, and all the townspeople stopped what they were doing and looked up to the sky. PJ looked too, and saw it: another Conspirium hovercraft. It was more or less the same size and shape of a sailboat, painted black, with the all-too-familiar symbol of the Conspirium displayed on its side. As it approached, the villagers began rushing around in a state of panic. Some hid, others gathered at the town square, which was within sight of the river. Children cried as their parents whisked them away. PJ sank low in the water and watched.

The Conspirium airship parked itself directly overhead. A shaft of light fell on the center of the village. The villagers fearfully watched a solid beam of light descend from the deck of the ship, like an elevator, carrying four men in matching uniforms. Once they had safely touched down on the ground, the lights faded away.

The biggest and meanest looking Conspirium soldier stepped forward, looking like he was in charge. "Listen up, all you dudes and dudettes," he said, loudly enough for even PJ to hear. "Three days ago, our scanners picked up a time machine radiation signature. When we sent an extraction team to the site, the time machine had been abandoned, and the time traveler dudes were nowhere to be found."

He paused to scan the faces in the crowd. None of the people had the courage to meet his gaze.

"That was at the Forbidden Mountain. This is the only settlement within a hundred miles of the land of death. If our little time travelers survived, they would have had nowhere else to go but here. Now, have any strangers shown up in this here village recently?" He licked his lips and moved closer to a group of elderly men and women who were seated on a log bench, leering down at them one by one.

The youngest man seated at the bench, or whom PJ indicated as such by the fact that his hair was the least white, and who was further distinguished by the large, beaded necklace he wore, stood up. "As I told you yesterday, no strangers have shown up in our village," he said, keeping his eyes on the ground. "We haven't seen anybody wearing twenty-first century clothing, nor has any illegal technology been discovered in the village."

"Is that so, Mr. Mayor dude?" the soldier asked. He snapped his fingers, and one of the soldiers behind him dramatically brandished a short, leather whip. "Are you sure you haven't spotted any dudes wearing Old World clothes? Or noticed any illegal technology lying around? Nothing that would indicate a time traveler has been through here?"

The mayor submitted all too easily. Kneeling on the ground, he offered himself to the soldier. "I swear on the life of The King, that to the best of my knowledge, there have been no time travelers here. I offer myself to be whipped as a sign of my sincerity."

"No!"

A small girl with little black pigtails, who PJ judged to be too young to even attend school, rushed to the side of the mayor and wrapped her arms around him. "Don't hurt my daddy, meanie!" she scowled at the soldier. "He's telling the truth!"

"Sophie," the mayor gently sounded, "we talked about this. Go back and stay with Mommy."

The little girl shook her head. "Mm-mm! I'm gonna prokect you!" She clung to his side even tighter.

The soldier threw his head back and roared in laughter. "Now that's the kind of spunk I like to see!" With that, he reached out and grabbed her by the arms, lifting her high off the ground.

She cried out at being separated from her father, but quickly turned her head and met the glowering of the soldier, unintimidated. PJ was impressed. "You're a bad-bad man!" she spat.

"Please, let her go!" the mayor begged, desperately pressing his forehead into the ground. "She's just a child, she doesn't know what she's saying!"

"Humph," humphed the soldier, ignoring his pleas. "You have to admire the honesty of a child. If she says you aren't harboring any time travelers, then it's probably true. Wouldn't you agree?" he directed at the other soldiers.

They nodded.

The mayor breathed a sigh of relief.

"However, it seems to me that you haven't raised your daughter to properly respect her elders, have you?" he sneered.

The mayor raised his head to meet the soldier's eyes for the first time, tears brimming. "I'll do better! I'll teach her her place, I swear!"

The soldier savagely kicked the mayor.

"Daddy!" screamed the little girl.

Extending her out to arm's length to present her backside, the soldier looked at his comrades. "Let's give this little dudette three lashes. That should teach her her lesson." The leader took the whip and pulled it back, readying to strike. The girl's screams rang out through the village as the leather sliced through the air.

 _SLAP!_

Feeling no pain, the girl stopped her crying and looked up.

PJ gave her a reassuring smile, curling his tail around her body to shield her from the whip. He had grabbed onto the leader's arm and climbed up, putting him at her level. Before anyone could process what had happened, he then bit the arm that was holding them up, making the burly soldier drop them both and step back.

Helping the girl up to her feet, PJ asked, "Are you okay?"

She just looked at him with big, brown eyes, stunned. He took that as a 'yes.' Turning around and putting himself between the Conspirium soldiers and the girl, he said, "I'm the one you're looking for. That was my time machine you destroyed, and I'm pretty ticked off about that, to put it nicely."

"It's that beaver-duck!" One of the back-up soldiers realized. "He can talk, too?"

"He's a freaking mutant!" another exclaimed.

PJ felt the eyes of all the villagers on him, many of them inspecting something other than the dirt around their shoes for the first time since the encounter started.

"I prefer to be called a 'platypus,' thank you very much," he stated.

The leader stopped nursing the bite mark and growled. "We'll be taking you in, little dude. The Kingdom has forbidden the use of all time machines, and we've got a few questions for you as well."

PJ cracked his knuckles. "Come and get me."

Taken aback by the platypus' confident exterior, the leader backed a step away. "Urgh, all right, you three! Arrest him," he ordered the three other soldiers. They shared a quick glance with one another before charging simultaneously.

Two seconds and a couple of dull thuds later, the three of them were lying motionless, facedown in the dirt.

"Care to try again?" PJ returned his attention to the leader.

All the color had drained from the man's face. He threw the whip in his hand to the ground and turned tail to run back to his ship.

"Oh, no you don't!" PJ sallied forward, tripping the soldier up before he could get away.

"Ah! Please, don't hurt me, dude! I'm just a big, yellow-bellied coward!" he grovelled, putting his hands together to plead. "I'm sorry for troubling the kind people of this good town!" He started crying, drenching his sleeve as he hid his face inside the crook of his elbow.

PJ clapped his hands up and down as if dusting them off. "Pathetic. Are you even in the Conspirium? I haven't been this underwhelmed since I fought that one evil scientist with Dad."

"My Pop made me enlist in the Kingdom's military to toughen me up," explained the soldier through a river of tears. "You see, I come from a long line of bullies, it's the family business. But I'm what you might call the black sheep, because I'm really a big wuss."

Something he heard him say made PJ pause. _A long line of bullies?_ That sounded familiar. "What's your name?"

"Tannen Van Stomm."

That confirmed it. This schmuck was one of Buford's descendants. His increasingly loud sobs were grating on PJ's nerves. "I never liked bullies," he commented. With that, he brought his fist down hard on the thick head of Buford's son, or grandson, or whatever he was. His eyes rolled back into their sockets, and he collapsed on the ground, joining the other soldiers.

It was suddenly very quiet. PJ looked up and remembered that he was still under all the villagers' intense scrutiny. "Uh," he stammered to break the awkward silence, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head. "Everybody's okay now, right?"

All at once, every villager broke out in cheers and jubilation.

* * *

"Thank you for saving us!"

"It was nothing, really…"

"The prophecy has come true!"

"That's just nonsense…"

"Yes, the prophecy! Our hero has come to save us!"

"I'm definitely not a hero…"

"Our village is finally free!"

"They'll probably send more once they find out what happened. The village is only in more danger now, if anything..."

The swarming crowd was causing PJ to start to feel a little claustrophobic. Fortunately, the people started to make way when the mayor came forward. "Excuse me, pardon me, coming through." PJ directed his attention to the man and his daughter, who walked with him hand-in-hand.

Before the mayor said anything, he fell to the ground in a deep bow to PJ. "Thank you for saving my daughter," he said, making PJ feel more uncomfortable than ever. "I am forever in your debt. My name is Jantz, and I am the mayor of this humble village."

"And my name is Sophie! Nice to meet you!" Sophie glanced at her father, noticing his genuflection, and mimicked it, bowing in the same way.

PJ stared, jaw slack, mouth agape, totally at a loss at how he should react to this new development. After a few awkward moments, the mayor lifted his eyes and prompted him. "What is your name, time traveler?"

Clearing his throat, PJ composed himself. "PJ. It's PJ, the platypus."

"Welcome, PJ the platypus," Mayor Jantz said, rising to his feet. "It is my honor to welcome you to the town of Villagetown―I know, naming things is not one of our strong points."

"...Yeah," was all PJ said, not knowing what else to do.

The mayor looked like he was expecting the platypus to say more, and when PJ didn't, he glanced at the watching villagers before he continued. "Won't you stay in our humble village, time traveler? As my thanks, I'll offer you a place to stay in my home. My wife will be cooking―"

"I'm gonna stop you right there," PJ interrupted. "I've seen enough movies to know how this is going to play out. You want to convince me to stay and protect your village from the Conspirium, probably think I'm 'the chosen one' or some great hero, or something. You even believe in some prophecy that I'm supposed to fulfill and free your people. Well, I hate to break it to you, but that isn't what this is. Unless your prophecy says something about me getting back to my time, I want nothing to do with it."

It was the mayor's turn to be stunned, jaw slack, mouth agape. "How-how did you know all that? Er, I don't know what you mean by this 'Conspirium,' but to have already deduced the rest? It must be true!" He turned to the villagers. "Our time traveler must be using his 'self-own,' the legendary technology from that past that allowed any person who had one to know anything!"

As one, all the people in the crowd absorbed the same shocked look as their mayor. PJ didn't like the whispers that were being tossed around in his every direction.

"Actually," he said, putting his hands up, "it's called a 'cell phone,' and they don't work like that, and I don't have one." The whispers only seemed to increase.

The mayor looked fidgety from the multiplication of murmuring as well. "I implore you to reconsider, great warrior. As the mayor of Villagetown, it is my responsibility to protect the people living here. To be frank, no one here has ever stood up to the UNA Kingdom soldiers the way you did just now. I know we know hardly anything about you, but if you have any enmity towards the Kingdom and its officials at all, I would humbly ask you to stay and protect my people. The times are hard. We live at the borders of the Forbidden Mountain, making it difficult to grow our crops. And of what we do grow, we pay half that in taxes to the Kingdom, leaving barely any left for us to eat. I know I'm asking a lot, but someone like you could really help us. With you on our side, we might finally be able to drive off the Governor of this land and be rid of his greed. If you do this, we would be eternally in your debt. We would give you anything we have the power to grant."

PJ rolled his eyes at this. Typical storyline, people are being oppressed by some evil tyrant, a good guy comes along, helps them overthrow said tyrant, usually the hero then gets the girl, yada yada, blah blah blah.

"What if I refuse?" he tested.

The crowd suddenly fell silent, making PJ look around. Nobody looked happy he said that. Even the mayor wore a pained expression. "Of course, we can't force you to stay here," he said softly, "and even if we tried, Great Warrior, we are but a small community of farmers, not fighters. You would have no trouble disposing of us as you did these soldiers."

He paused there, letting PJ have more time to take in the poor and pathetic state of the village. "That said, you have created quite a stir here, no doubt the Kingdom will soon discover what you did and follow you wherever you go. As the mayor, I would be blamed for allowing you to escape. Chances are I'd be executed for that offence," he added sadly, glancing at his daughter, who had left to go play with some of the other children. "But as long as Sophie is safe, that is all that matters to me."

PJ knew it was a guilt trip, but it worked. "Look, it's not that I don't want to help you," he started. "I have a very big bone to pick with the―Kingdom? We called them 'the Conspirium' in my time. They took everything from me and marooned me to this time. I hate them more than anything. But this is bigger than you and me. Here's the thing: everything you know is wrong. Hold up, that came out wrong. What I mean is, none of this was supposed to happen. It wasn't supposed to be possible, but somehow, the Conspirium altered the timeline. The future was supposed to be peaceful, not some dystopian scene straight out of 1984. That's―eh?"

Most of the villagers that were still listening wore confused looks. PJ guessed in their pre-technological state, they didn't really understand how time travel worked. They probably also didn't understand the George Orwell reference, either.

"Look, those soldiers destroyed my time machine, and therefore my only way to get back to my time. If I could just somehow go back, I could fix everything. That's all I want. Unfortunately, something tells me you don't have a time machine lying around, so you don't have anything to offer me. It's nothing personal."

The mayor brought his hand to his chin as he took in this information. "...I see," he breathed, realizing the full scope of PJ's predicament. "Perhaps we can come to an agreement then. There is a rumor that the Governor has a time machine in his mansion. I don't know if this is true, but it's the best I can offer you. Now you see, our interests do in fact intersect. An old prophecy says that one day, a great warrior will come to our town to save us from the heavy yoke we bear. You can choose whether to believe it or not, if you wish. But if you help us drive out the Governor, I, Jantz, Mayor of Villagetown, give you my word that that time machine's yours."

That was all PJ needed to hear. "Mr. Mayor, you've got yourself a deal."


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Someone in the crowd behind PJ's back shouted, "Three cheers for our new hero, PJ the platypus! Hip hip, hooray!"

PJ cringed at such an old-fashioned celebration coming from the crowd.

The mayor glanced at the villagers, relieved at their approval with how things had turned out. "What should we do with them?" he softly indicated, as if to himself, as he turned to face the unconscious Conspirium soldiers. The crowds were likewise gathering around their bodies, although no one seemed to want to touch them.

"Don't you have a jail you can throw them in?" PJ suggested upon approaching. Everyone looked at PJ when he spoke, but in a respectful, attentive way, not in the slightly-scared-and-wondering-if-they're-going-crazy way he was used to strangers staring.

"Well the thing is, we don't have a jail in our village, Mr. PJ, sir," one woman said.

PJ couldn't remember being called 'Mr. PJ' before.

"Do you have rope?"

"Yes, Mr. PJ, sir," said another villager.

"Tie them up to a tree or something," PJ offered.

"Oh, that's a good idea! We should hang them! On a tree!"

"That's not what I meant!" PJ shook his head emphatically. "After all, they could provide useful information! They should be questioned when they come to." There was a general murmur of assent to his words.

"Mr. PJ is so wise!"

"Indeed! He may even be more wise than some of the Elders!"

PJ managed a shy grin. "It's just basic knowledge," he muttered.

He stuck around with the crowd while they dragged the prisoners out of the village and tied them up, making sure they didn't actually hang them. He also suggested they search their clothes to make sure they didn't have any hidden knives to cut themselves free, or the like. By the time they were finished with that, other villagers were gathering below the airship, which sat completely still, like a silent sentinel in the sky. Some of them spotted PJ and called him over.

"Mr. PJ! Mr. PJ! Do you know how to fly that?" They pointed at the Conspirium's ship.

PJ shrugged in answer. He was not used to getting this much attention, unless folks were wrinkling their noses or giving him the stink eye.

"It looks slightly more advanced than the flying cars of my time. Can't anyone here fly it?"

The villagers shook their heads. "It's against the law for us to learn about technology."

"I bet you can do it, PJ!" cheered Sophie, the mayor's daughter, who had chosen that moment to appear by his side. "You're from the past, so you know how to do everything!"

"Hardly." PJ gulped when others in the crowd looked expectantly on him as well. "Oh, all right, I'll take a look. Let's see, the elevator is probably operated by a motion detector, so if I do this―" He ambled around directly underneath the ship, flapping his arms. There was a clacking noise from the hull, and a beam of light enveloped PJ and Sophie, gently lifting them off the ground and transporting them up to the ship. It reminded him of some Phineas and Ferb tech. Down below, the villagers 'oohed' and 'ahhed' as they attentively watched.

The deck was not large, only about twenty feet across its longest axis. PJ helped Sophie off the elevator onto the ship, who ran off to explore as he made his way to the controls. They looked similar enough to flying cars in his time. With a little trial and error, he figured out which pedals and levers did what, and started flying the ship in large circles.

"Wee!" Sophie climbed to the nose of the ship, letting the wind whip her face as she squealed in glee. "Go faster, PJ!" she urged.

Curious himself as to what the ship's capabilities were, he started going faster, climbing and diving, and doing loops, which delighted Sophie to no end. Satisfied, he flew it past the edge of town and settled it down in an empty field by some farmland, then helped Sophie climb out while the villagers rushed to their landing zone in a frenzy, raving about his abilities.

"As expected from our time traveling hero! He knows how to operate all the Kingdom's technology!" the first to catch up to them shouted.

"He really does know how to work any machine!"

"Not really," he tried to explain, "I just spent a lot of time with Phineas and Ferb, and you start picking up on things after a while." Even as he tried to duck out of the way and head back to the town square, more villagers were coming up to him.

"Mr. PJ, sir, my grandmother handed down this antique to me from the olden days, can you tell me what it is?"

PJ couldn't suppress his confused look when he saw the item that villager was holding. "Isn't that just a toaster?"

The crowd went silent at that explanation. "A toaster? What's a toaster?"

 _So this is what life became like after the EMP,_ PJ thought. "Toasters were used to toast slices of bread using electricity," he summarized.

The number of awed looks he received from that explanation troubled him. Suddenly, he was bombarded with questions about what this or that thing from the twenty-first century somebody still had was. More and more people ran off to get their things and return a minute later, wanting to hear him appraise it.

"That's a flashlight."

"That's a battery. It's what they used to power flashlights."

"That's an adaptor. It plugs into things, but not flashlights."

"That's a ballpoint pen."

"That's a lamp."

"That's a satellite dish."

"That's a power drill."

"That's a calculator. It's like a slide rule, but it runs on electricity."

"That's a slide rule. It's like a calculator, but I don't really know how it works."

Soon enough, he was back at the town square, surrounded by the villagers. He still wasn't used to being this much the center of attention, but he had to admit it was nice to be popular for once. Until―

"I say we all treat Sir PJ to a drink!" one of the townspeople suggested, to raucous approval.

"Here here!" And before he knew it, he was being whisked away to the local tavern.

"Hey, wait, guys," he tried. "There are kids here! I'm not of drinking age! Platypuses don't have very big livers!" His excuses fell on deaf ears. _Sure, now they stop paying attention to what I have to say!_ At the swinging doors that called back to the saloon entrances of old Western movies, PJ tried to brace against the crowd, but someone picked him up, carried him to the bar, and plopped him down in front of the barkeep.

"Bartender! Give Sir PJ here some of your finest ale!"

"Mr. PJ!" the bartender exclaimed. "The town hero! Here, you can have this on the house!"

A mug almost as big as him was slammed down on the counter before him. "You really don't have to…" PJ tried again before trailing off, but the crowd would have none of it.

"Drink! Drink! Drink!" they chanted. _What was the matter with these people?_ "PJ! PJ! PJ!"

Sighing, PJ climbed up on the bar to face the crowd. He took the mug in both hands and raised it to his bill, took a sip, sputtered at the burning.

"Ay!" Everyone cheered, and PJ couldn't help smiling. He had his first drink, after all. Without getting tossed out this time. Even if a sip was all he could do, he felt happy to just be accepted by everyone for once.

"That's enough for me, my liver is only this big!" He made a circle the size of a quarter with his thumb and forefinger. That got a good laugh out of the crowd, and they got off his back about drinking any more.

* * *

Feeling accepted was one thing, but this was too much. PJ was uncomfortable with getting this much attention. He'd been told so many names he couldn't remember a single one of them anymore. He'd been told so many stories about the Kingdom's abuse the villagers had endured he'd lost count of how many times he'd said, "I'm sorry for your loss." Taxes. Basic human rights infractions. Family and friends being taken from them. But the thing he was most sick of hearing was, "Isn't it good? Villagetown brews the best beverages in the entire Bevermont Province!" Apparently, their local distillery was the villager's pride and joy. All the Governor's finest wines and beer came from right here. Good for them, PJ thought, but they didn't have to bring it up in every conversation.

Not wanting to offend his hosts, he did nothing more than frequently glance at the swinging doors as he listened to all the villagers tell him their stories, wishing he could just take a walk by himself to get away from it all. Although it was nice to be treated as well as any other person for once, then he'd remember that there was still a time machine out there, and that awareness would make him feel lousy for sitting here wasting time. Which made him glance at the door again, totally not paying attention to whatever story another villager was telling him, and so the cycle continued.

Eventually, the mayor's little daughter Sophie came and found him at the tavern's biggest wooden table, every seat taken by someone who was trying to curry his attention and favor.

"Daddy said to bring you to meet the Elders," she informed him with an innocent grin.

"I do not know what that means, but let's do it!" he exclaimed, jumping up eagerly. "Sorry fellas," he added when the villagers pled for him to stay. "The Mayor probably wants me to help plan out taking down the Governor."

Reluctantly, the villagers sent him off with a final cheer before happily returning to their drinks.

As soon as he was out the saloon-style doors with Sophie, PJ took a deep breath of cool air. "Ah, feels good to be outside again." The clouds in the west glowed a brilliant red-orange now that the sun had sunk deep in the evening sky. PJ and the young girl strolled along the cobblestone road like they were taking a leisurely walk in the park.

"Is PJ getting hungry yet? Daddy said you should come eat dinner with us." Her cuteness could make his warrior-like heart melt, if he wasn't careful.

"I just want to evict this Governor of yours so I can use his time machine to get back home," he replied.

"I love dinner," she answered, like she hadn't heard a word he said. "My favorite is cheesy potatoes!"

"How old are you, Sophie?"

"I'm four years old! Yesterday was my birthday!"

"Really? Happy birthday!"

"Yeah! And today is Daddy's birthday! I'm going to give him a present."

That seemed like quite the coincidence. PJ wondered. "When is your mother's birthday?"

"Tomorrow," she said immediately. PJ decided that she was probably inventing all these dates.

The village was so small, they had already arrived at the building Sophie was leading him to. Even though he hadn't even spent a whole day in the village, he could already see that this building was special. It was the only building in the whole village made completely of brick and stone, and probably the one with the most square footage. Most of the homes and small businesses were really huts or stables made of timber at best, yet stakes and canvas were more common. Even the tavern they'd just come from, one of the larger local joints he'd seen so far, would pass for little more than a log cabin.

PJ was the taller of the two, so he reached up to get the door handle. They passed through a short entryway into a single square room containing plenty of soft, cushy seats, upon which were seated all the old fogies PJ had noticed sitting together earlier during the confrontation with the Conspirium soldiers. When he entered, they all turned to face PJ, who stopped on the spot. Sophie ran to her father and climbed onto his lap.

"I found PJ!" she bragged energetically. "He was at the tavern!"

"Oh really?" exclaimed the mayor, booping her on the nose with a smile. Turning to address PJ, "So, you've tried our lager? Villagetown brews the best beverages in the entire Bevermont Province!"

"So I've been told," PJ drolled. _About 50 gajillion times._ He inspected the roughly crafted stone walls and some of the modest paintings that decorated them, resisting the urge to ask what this place was, as he didn't particularly care that much and assumed he got the gist. Despite the fact that he knew it was probably a good idea to gather as much useful intel about his new life circumstances as possible, he'd seen enough to piece together that this building was essentially the town's City Hall.

"You are standing before the Council of Elders who run our village," the mayor explained, picking up on his conflicted expression. "It is they who chose me as its mayor. Here, we discuss Villagetown's needs and how to best take care of the people."

 _Nailed it_ , he snorted softly.

"We're gonna talk about boring grown-up stuff, now, Sophie," the mayor gently intoned in his daughter's ear. "Why don't you run home and see if Mommy needs any help cooking dinner?"

"Okay, Daddy!"

With an easy air, she bounced off his lap and bounded out.

"Is it safe letting her wander off alone like that?" PJ couldn't help but ask.

"We're a small town, everyone knows everyone. As long as there aren't any Kingdom soldiers around, it's perfectly safe inside our gates."

That sounded bizarre to PJ, who knew all too well that Marie could never be allowed to leave home without at least her bodyguard. "If you say so."

"Don't worry, my home is just next door. Like I said, we're a small town. Now, then, let's get started. PJ, the Council is in agreement that if you uphold your end of the bargain, you can have the time machine from the Governor's mansion to return to your own time."

PJ nodded politely. As if he would let them stop him from taking it in the first place.

"Now, we have already discussed the matter of creating our own militia as a council. Under our current circumstances, we believe we will be able to spare twenty-one of our men to fight, and we should have enough pitchforks and torches to arm them all."

PJ blinked. _Were they serious?_

"Now, we would need to make arrangements for everyone to have a horse for the four-day ride to the mansion, but when Farmer Dale gets back from his cow-herding trip next week, if he can spare a few of his ponies, we should have enough for everyone."

"I'm sorry, did you say, 'torches and pitchforks?'" interrupted PJ.

"Is there a problem?"

"The Conspirium has semi-automatic, automatic, heck, they probably even have just plain -matic guns. And flying airships. And tanks, and missiles, and bombs, and drones, and jeeps, and radio, and satellite images, and―they've got everything! They have everything plus an extra hundred years' worth of technological advances!"

That did it. Everyone (except for the really old, drooping woman who looked like she was asleep) visibly deflated.

He didn't stop there. "And waiting a week to make our move? In your dreams! Do you think they won't notice their men go missing after today? I guarantee they'll be sending more soldiers this way tomorrow. And this time, they will be packing heat!" Any spirit of rebellion was now utterly eliminated from the room. Reading the mood, PJ felt bad, but clearly, these people had no idea what they were up against.

"You're right," sighed the mayor wearily. "It's hopeless. We don't stand a chance."

"Not if we try to storm the mansion like a mob, with a bunch of torches and pitchforks," PJ admitted. "We need a new plan. Let's start over from scratch. Tell me everything you know about the Conspirium, the Kingdom, the Governor, the soldiers, the mansion, everything."

The mayor shifted his gaze awkwardly from one council member to another, and PJ didn't like the looks they were sharing. Finally, turning back to PJ, he broke the bad news. "That's the problem. We―don't really know all that much about them ourselves. Nobody here has ever been more than a half-day's journey away from the village."

PJ was about ready to give up. "Okay, then. Why don't we try questioning our Conspirium prisoners?"

"That's a good idea, actually." The mayor's face turned a shade of pink, as if embarrassed he hadn't thought of that himself. "I'll have someone bring them in."

"Might I recommend," blurted PJ, "just bringing in one at a time. Interrogations work better that way."

"Very well, PJ. We're relying on your experience with this."

PJ got the feeling they'd be doing that a lot going forward.

A few minutes later, the soldier who had announced himself as Tannen Van Stomm was brought in with his wrists tied behind his back. "There you are, little dude!" he exclaimed brightly upon seeing PJ, whilst ignoring the Elders. "I want you train me to become strong and brave, like you are, little dude, so I can become a better bully! Please be my sensei!" Then, as if he'd taken lessons in humility from the mayor earlier, Van Stomm dropped to his knees and prostrated himself before PJ, somewhat smacking his forehead into the floor in the process, being unable to use his hands to balance.

"Er…" PJ had not anticipated this strange turn of events. "I'm not a dojo or a sensei. And you're lucky I stopped the villagers from hanging you and your men earlier. Now it's time for you to return the favor. We need information, and either you cooperate, or you'll be having that date with the noose after all."

"So what you're saying is," remarked Van Stomm, "you―saved my life?"

"Darn right," replied PJ. "That means you―"

"―Are now your slave for life," he interjected.

"That's right. Wait, what? No, that's not where I was going with that at all!" PJ facepalmed.

Van Stomm stood upright and squared his shoulders, in an effort to look official. "The Bully Code has spoken! Oh, if only my Pop could see me now. Well, little dude, as your new lifelong slave, I will do whatever ask. So if information is what you need, you can count on me, Tannen Van Stomm!"

Still pinching the bridge of his beak, PJ said, "Fine. Just tell us everything you know about the Governor's mansion."

* * *

The plan was easily the best he'd ever had. PJ reckoned it might even hold a kernel to Phineas and Ferb's legendary reputation for creativity.

...

" _We don't have the weapons or the manpower to invade the mansion head-on," he'd said, running his finger over the little hand-drawn map he'd produced with Van Stomm's help. "This guard post here is small, yet it's enough to stop us cold. However, numbers aren't the only thing that matters. More wars are won from using the element of surprise than they are from overpowering the enemy. We just have to stick to our strengths."_

" _But we don't have any strengths," one of the Elders said._

" _Everyone has something," countered PJ. "C'mon, think! Isn't there something this town is good at? It could be anything!"_

 _A few of the Elders swapped glances before the mayor turned what they were all thinking into something audible. "Villagetown brews the best beverages in the entire Bevermont Province."_

" _Eureka!" PJ hooted._

…

What really amazed him was how quickly he'd come up with the plan. Granted, it had taken until almost midnight to get everything prepared and ready. Once the airship was loaded with alcohol, PJ, Van Stomm, the mayor, and two other villagers boarded under the dim starlight and took off into the night.

…

" _It will be suicide to assault the mansion unarmed," PJ elaborated to the Council. "We'll be stopped by the guard post anyways, we should make the most of our time there."_

…

The mayor and the two other men from the village had changed into the Conspirium soldiers' uniforms earlier, adopting them as disguises. Van Stomm wore his as well, and without PJ there, they looked like they really were a small unit of UNA Kingdom private officers.

"It seems a waste to give all this to the Kingdom," one of the men said, regarding the barrels. "Can't we just have a little?"

"The apothecary spiked them with sleep drugs," PJ said over his shoulder from the wheel. "You don't want to drink any of it. We'll be at the guard post soon."

Within minutes, he could see the lights shining through the windows of the watchtower up ahead. The tractor beam immediately assumed remote control of the airship and pulled them in.

"It'll be up to you four, now," PJ said, before climbing into the final, empty barrel to hide.

The airship slowed to a stop at the gate. A forcefield barrier straight out of a sci-fi flick, shaped like a giant dome that rose hundreds of feet high and extended out for miles, blocked their progress forward.

A soldier came out from the guard post and approached the ship. "Vessel 2387, you were supposed to be back hours ago! What kept you so long?"

"Uh, well, you see, dudes," Van Stomm stepped forward to explain, "while we were stopped at Villagetown, we ended up getting some drinks and lost track of time."

"Dereliction of duty, tsk, tsk," tsked the soldier. "I suppose I will have to inform my superior officer, I will…"

"What if I were to say we brought back some of Villagetown's fine wines with us?" Van Stomm suggested underhandedly, indicating with his hand to the cargo. "We don't mind sharing, and we can keep the details to ourselves."

The checkpoint soldier grinned, quickly picking up on Van Stomm's bribe. "Oh, I must have misheard! You were diligently searching for the time travelers until you ran out of daylight!" He reached for the nearest barrel.

"Oh, you know, that barrel's the best of the bunch, shouldn't we leave that for the Governor's table?" one of the villagers said, playing his role perfectly.

"The best barrel of the bunch?" The soldier was practically drooling. That bit about being the 'best of the bunch' really seemed to pique his interest.

"That's right. But here, take this one! Villagetown brews the best beverages in the entire Bevermont Province!" The villager bent over to pick up another barrel for the guard.

"Now, now, Private! I'm gonna need something on the strong side, otherwise my memory has a tendency to be a little too sharp for its own good!"

"Sargeant, I think you'll find that any of these other barrels will satisfactorily suit your taste," the mayor reaffirmed. "That one really should go to the Governor himself!"

The soldier hugged the barrel against his chest even tighter after hearing that. "The Governor won't be able to tell the difference, will he? I could always ask my superior officer's opinion."

Van Stomm pretended like he gave in. "No, that's not necessary. Go ahead and take that one. We'll bring these other barrels with us to share with the other patrols."

The soldier threw his head back victoriously and laughed. "Man, at first I thought this was going to be another long and boring post, but I had a feeling that something special was gonna happen tonight!" With that, he carried the barrel inside on one shoulder.

The four thespians looked back at the barrel PJ was hiding inside. PJ peeked out to give them the thumbs up. "Now go make sure that drug works!" he whispered.

He waited silently in the barrel for a little over twenty minutes, listening as the remaining guards joined the one they'd bribed. Soon, loud laughter and the occasional breaking into singing could be heard filling the watchtower, indicating that the liquor was working. The inside of the hut was loud for a while, but eventually, the sounds died out in time. Not much later, and the mayor came out to give PJ the all clear.

"They're all asleep!" He sounded thrilled. "PJ, you're a genius!"

"And the armory?" PJ asked, pulling himself out of the barrel.

"You're gonna have to come see for yourself."

PJ followed the mayor into the guard post and up a small staircase. When he opened the door to the armory, he stopped short. _Jackpot!_

There were racks of guns and crates of grenades. There were spare uniforms, riot gear, kevlar vests, stun sticks, and body shields. There were lasers and rocket launchers and RPG's. It was a beautiful sight.

"We could outfit the whole village with all this gear!" The mayor was shaking, he couldn't contain his excitement.

"Let's fit as much of it as we can on the airship," PJ said, also doing his best to hide a smile. "Remember, we're not finished yet."

…

" _According to Van Stomm, the guard post is the only obstacle on the way to the mansion," PJ observed, looking at his newly self-appointed personal slave. "Now, from what you're telling me, the Kingdom doesn't have any military forces stationed inside the forcefield. All the more reason to go tonight, when they least expect it. All we have to do is follow the river. That should be easy enough."_

…

The tractor beam had been disabled, and Van Stomm knew how to open the forcefield barrier's gateway window, letting them through. PJ guided the airship along the river by light of the soft glow emitted by the forcefield surrounding them. Suddenly, one of the villagers standing watch at the deck shouted, "Look over there!"

PJ glanced with the others in the direction he was pointing. A half dozen of the two-man flying motorcycles he'd seen back in the irradiated zone were fast approaching, a couple thousand feet off their port side. PJ cursed. "Get ready for a dogfight!" he screamed.

"A dog fight?" asked the same villager. "I don't see any dogs around!"

"It means an aerial battle!" PJ exclaimed.

"How'd they find us?" cried the mayor.

"They must be using radar," Van Stomm declared. "Do any of you know how to shoot?"

Each of the three villagers shook their heads. PJ was afraid of that. "Van Stomm, it looks like you're gonna have to drive!" He stepped away from the controls.

"But Sensei," Van Stomm disputed while picking up his gun, "it is my duty as your lifelong slave to protect you with my very life, if need be! I should be fighting instead of these dudes!"

"Except none of them can drive!" bellowed PJ.

"But I―"

"I said take the wheel!"

Van Stomm reluctantly took PJ's place. With that, PJ shuffled to the weapons they'd stockpiled in the cargo bay. "All right, you three, watch me. Here's your thirty second training on how to use a gun. You hold it like this, here's where the bullets come out, only press the trigger when you're ready to shoot! This button is the safety, it won't shoot unless you slide it like this. To reload, you push this thing here, the magazine pops out, and you put a full one in! Got it?"

They nodded. The flying motorcycles were almost on them. The pack leader extracted a bullhorn and held it to his chin. "You are flying in a restricted airspace. Land now! This is your final warning!"

"Ah, scary! We should probably do what he says!" cried Van Stomm, his brave face from just a moment ago completely gone.

PJ fired a salvo shot from one of the same futuristicky machine guns he'd seen the Conspirium soldiers carrying back on the Forbidden Mountain. The pack leader veered away in response, and the motorcycles converged in a tidy formation on their rear.

"So much for the element of surprise," PJ shrugged, before commanding the other men behind him to open fire.

Gunfire rent the air, causing their formation to break and scatter. PJ squinted down the sights, picked out a target, and let loose a spray, hitting the front bumper of one of the motorcycles. Some smoke belched out of the engine, but it careened onward just as before. None of the other vehicles appeared to have sustained any damage, PJ noted with a quick glance.

No longer attempting to stay in formation, the motorcycles trailed them in every direction. PJ watched as each of the copilots extracted their guns and took aim for their ship. "Take cover!" he shouted before ducking below the gunwale. The others followed his example right as a barrage of bullets tore into the side of the ship. PJ quickly snatched a hand grenade from a nearby crate and pulled the pin, counted to three, and tossed it over the side.

 _BANG!_

The bullets immediately subsided. PJ chanced a peek and saw one of the motorcycles was plummeting, the pilots wrestling futilely with the controls.

"Nice shot!" complimented the mayor, but PJ didn't allow himself to lose focus.

"Stay down!"

One of the motorcycles had climbed above them to get a better shot at their airship's innards. PJ lifted his sights and started firing in bursts. The motorcycle zigged and zagged, then retreated back to the ship's aft.

"Are we getting close to the mansion yet?" PJ shouted over the wind.

"I don't see anything yet!" Van Stomm called back over his shoulder.

"Start taking us down lower! If we end up crashing, it'll be better if we are close to the ground!"

"Aye aye!"

Shifting his attention back to the dogfight, PJ reassessed his surroundings. The motorcycle he'd hit earlier seemed to be having flight issues. It was falling back. That left four motorcycles still on their tail. They'd returned to formation far aft, well out of reach for shooting to be of any use.

"What are they doing now?" asked the mayor. PJ didn't know.

"They're retreating!" claimed one of their comrades.

"I don't think so," PJ said. "Look!"

They all looked at one of the motorcycle copilots, who was attaching something a lot bigger than any of their guns to the front of his hovership. An extra-long barrel was being mounted to the motorcycle, just below the windshield.

Van Stomm's voice rose up over the sound of the rushing wind. "I see it! The mansion's not far ahead!"

"That's great! Head straight for it!" PJ ordered. Then he looked back in time to see the motorcycles converge together to help support the huge barrel being attached to the front of the one vehicle. While one of the copilots was helping attach it to the bumper, another was stuffing PJ couldn't tell what down the barrel. It reminded him of the old cannoneers who used to ram powder and cannonballs down the barrel of a cannon to prime it.

"I have a bad feeling about this," he said.

They could do nothing but watch. Finally, the other motorcycles pulled away, leaving the one that was armed with that cannon-like barrel extruding like the long nose of a swordfish. The barrel was now pointing straight at them, and the motorcycles were closing in once again.

PJ jerked himself away from the scene to comb through their weapons stash. He grabbed the case for the RPG, uncinched the latches, and grunted as he mounted the hefty grenade launcher onto his shoulder. "Get back!" he shouted at the others, who scrambled out of his way. Using the gunwale to keep the bazooka steady, he aimed for the center of the formation cluster, adjusted for wind speed and travel velocity, and squeezed the trigger.

The very moment he did so, the cannon-mounted motorcycle fired at them.

His RPG sailed through the air, directly at the swordfish-shaped motorcycle. His aim was true, the blast knocked all the remaining motorcycles out of the air.

"Whoa! That was awesome!" exclaimed the mayor. The look on his face reminded PJ of a kid on Christmas morning.

At the same time, a wide, thick, wire netting burst from the cannonball they'd been hit with, which wrapped itself around their airship. Immediately, the net delivered a powerful electric shock that overloaded the airship's systems. It stalled in midair, making PJ's stomach do backflips as they started to fall.

"Assume crash positions!" he shouted before diving to the floor.

"Hey little dude, should I push this button that says, 'Only use in case of crash?'"

PJ looked through his elbows, having already wrapped his arms over his head, to see what Van Stomm was talking about. "Sure, why not?"

The remedial bully hit the button. Out of nowhere, bunches of inflated airbags flew out of the dashboard and wrapped themselves around the five of them, in a way that PJ could only describe as being enveloped by a big, squishy boa constrictor. Seconds later, their vessel crashed, throwing them bodily around the deck, only for them to bounce around harmlessly inside their soft cocoons.

Once the hovercraft had skidded to a stop, the airbags deflated. "Is everyone okay?" asked PJ, untangling himself from the mess that had been made by their stockpile of weapons being tossed about in the crash.

His little platoon groaned as they climbed to their feet. "I think so," said one, and the others nodded.

"Well, here's the good news: we made it." PJ indicated to the mansion, just a stone's throw away. At that moment, alarms started going off inside the mansion. "Bad news is our plan to sneak in is out. Alright, everyone, grab as many weapons as you can carry, and follow me! Our objective now is to obtain the Governor as a hostage before more soldiers arrive." He cocked his machine gun. "No time for stealth, we're gonna go in guns blazing!"

* * *

Decked out with guns in both hands, a black bandanna tied over his crown, lines of black grease smeared under his eyes, and two bandoleers slung over his shoulders so that they made an X across his chest, PJ kicked down the front door, screaming at the top of his lungs―to find that the foyer was empty.

"Whoa, look at this place!" The mayor and the rest of the men came in behind him and were immediately starstruck by the luxurious interior. A hanging chandelier overhead lit the front room. To their left, a long table that looked like it could seat forty extended the distance between them and the glossy kitchen, which itself sparkled enticingly beside a fully stocked bar. From here, they could see through fifteen-foot tall windows that a vacuous indoor swimming pool and spa was laid on the other side.

"Eyes on the prize," PJ said, who had been inside plenty of rich houses before. "We're here for the Governor, not to be impressed."

Leading the way, he followed a luxuriously thick burgundy rug thrown over the solid stone floor, the rest of the party trailing just behind him. Before they could proceed very far, a tall, finely tailored butler sporting a perfectly groomed goatee calmly approached from the upper level of the grand staircase directly ahead.

"Good evening, intruders," he said at the bottom step, as if expecting them. "Would you care for a cup of tea to go with―" Without warning, the butler transformed into a twelve-foot tall, mechanized robot with two huge lasers for arms― "...your doom?" The imposing voice that spoke those last two words was diametrically opposed to the inviting one the butler was employing moments before.

"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me." PJ's shoulders drooped momentarily before he was forced to jump aside to dodge the incoming laser. "Everyone spread out, I'll cover you!" he shouted to the others from the decorative suit of armor he was ducking behind. "Let's daaaaance!" With that, he charged the robot butler, guns blazing, giving his squadron the cover fire he'd promised―only to feel an explosion right in front of his face knock him off his feet.

Wincing slightly, PJ looked up from his supine position. The robot butler was in tatters, with various parts scattered all across the floor.

"What was that?" PJ looked at the group in time to see the mayor lower the bazooka from his shoulder, grinning from ear to ear.

"I like this gun," he said, patting it lovingly.

"WARN ME BEFORE YOU SHOOT IT NEXT TIME!" PJ erupted. "That almost hit me!"

"Sorry," he shrugged, not looking apologetic at all as he cradled the RPG in his arms.

PJ groaned and climbed to his feet before noticing some whirring noises coming from the robot butler. Taking a closer look, he saw a few metallic colored threads working their ways out, extending themselves like little worms toward the severed limbs. "What's it doing?"

"Self repairing," Van Stomm offered.

"Then we should keep moving before it's finished." PJ approached the grand staircase that commanded the view ahead. "Van Stomm, you lead. You know the way, right?"

"Emm, not so much, actually. I haven't really, you know, been inside the mansion before."

"Fine," PJ sighed. "I'll lead the way. Keep on your toes, let's see if our luck holds out." The others followed him to the upper landing where the staircase split at a T. The hallways on either side stretched out quite a ways, with doors lining both walls.

"Start checking the doors," ordered PJ. "Quickly!"

"What about the first floor?" asked one of the villagers. "Shouldn't we be searching it, too?"

"I've been inside enough mansions to know most of the bedrooms are usually not on the ground floor," PJ said, checking the closest door. "That'll be where stuff like the home theater, bowling alley, and garages are."

"Unbelievable," he heard the mayor uttering. "The whole village could live here, and this is all just for one person? This is the third bathroom I've seen!"

"There's probably fifty bathrooms and at least half that many bedrooms, if I had to guess," PJ said nonchalantly. "Welcome to the lifestyle of the super-rich. Just wait until you see their yachts and personal airplanes."

"Meanwhile, my people are hungry and living in the dirt," seethed the mayor. "And the same is true for every other village in Governor Bevermont's province! He must pay for this! Hey, in here!" he shouted, and they all rushed to the door he had tried. "I think I heard someone inside, but this door's locked."

PJ struck the handle with the butt of his gun, busting the slider through the wooden hatch, and swung the door open. "Mr. Mayor, get the light."

"I've never turned on a light switch before," he said in a somewhat aloof voice. The expansive bedroom, undoubtedly the biggest one they'd passed so far, flooded with light, but appeared to be empty.

"Check under the bed, inside the entertainment center, behind the dresser," listed PJ, and the men searched. Meanwhile, he walked over to one of the two walk-in closets and took a peek.

The larger one had a luxurious personal bathroom, an automatic coffee dispenser, and a bathtub the size of a school bus and made of copper, before he got to the actual closet. The door was shut. PJ tried the handle, locked again. He repeated the same motion, slamming the butt of his gun into the finely polished wood, destroying the door.

"Ahh!" A miserly looking figure in silk pajamas and a nightcap cowered before him.

"That's him!" The mayor came round from behind PJ. "That's the Governor!"

"That was too easy," PJ remarked. "Oh well, like Ferb always says, never look a gift horse in the mouth. Tie him up!"

At that moment, a loud thumping noise, like a helicopter, could be heard approaching from outside. As the men subdued the Governor, PJ glanced out the window to see what was making the racket. A vast airship the size of an aircraft carrier was almost upon them, escorted by multiple helicopters and dozens of smaller hovercraft matching the one they'd flown in on. PJ cursed. "We're out of time!" Turning to the Governor, he demanded, "Where is the time machine!"

"In the garage," their terrified hostage responded.

"Take us to it!"

"But PJ," the mayor interrupted, "we don't have time for that!"

"Then we'll make time for it! After I take the time machine, you all use something else in the garage to make your getaway! Van Stomm will drive you!"

"No!" Van Stomm protested. "I'm not letting you go anywhere without me, little dude! Besides, being chased by those helicopters sounds scary!"

Just then, the window exploded as bullets smashed into the room. Everybody ducked. "Just move!" ordered PJ, pointing for the door with one hand while shielding his head from flying glass with the other. They all dashed out without further argument.

They sprinted down the hallway, raced down the grand staircase and through the kitchen area, away from the front door. The Governor was being cooperative, not that he had a choice, and led them to the garage. The huge concrete room, big enough to hold a football field, displayed hundreds of vehicles, mostly flying cars, although there were also quite a few of the classic flightless cars from before PJ's time. They didn't have time to stop to admire any of them, however, and PJ had to spur the villagers on once or twice when they paused to admire the beauty of some of the classics.

They sped around one display in the center of the garage and then PJ saw it: like the heavens were parting, a beam of light shining down to cast it in a golden light, and a choir of angels singing praises―there was the time machine, at last! He ran out ahead of the rest of the group at full speed.

"PJ, wait!" the mayor shouted behind him. PJ ignored him. "STOP!"

There was a level of franticness in his voice that made PJ stop and turn around. "What?" he said, annoyed.

"If you go back to your time and change the past, what will happen to us?"

PJ did not like the tone he took. "The future will be restored to its original self," he said, forcing a calm voice.

"What does that mean? Are we going to just blink out of existence?" There was a sudden tension in the air between them.

Gritting his teeth, PJ raised his machine gun at the mayor. "Look, you can't see the bigger picture like I can. I'm not letting another time machine slip through my hands."

"So you were planning to double-cross us this whole time," the mayor sighed, then nodded to the other two villagers, who aimed their weapons at PJ, he himself raising his bazooka. Van Stomm, largely confused by this new development, finally decided to raise his gun at the mayor, and one of the villagers in turn redirected their gun at Van Stomm.

"It's not like that!" exclaimed PJ, never letting his gun sights waver from the mayor's head. "This is the only way to save everyone!"

"What about our village?" demanded the mayor. "If you change the past, my people might never even come to exist in the first place! And Sophie―my daughter might never be born at all!"

"Look, you're going to have to trust me, all right?" spat PJ. "This is bigger than just you and me. Fixing the future is the best thing for the world!"

"I don't care about what's best for the world! I want what's best for Sophie!" screamed the mayor. With that, he hefted the bazooka back on his shoulder to aim it at the time machine and pulled the trigger.

 _BOOM!_

PJ dove away from the explosion, then turned on his side to scream at the mayor. "You dirtbag! You've doomed us all!"

The mayor tossed the bazooka aside, having used the last of his RPG's. "I'm sorry, PJ, but I need you to stay here and help us fight the Kingdom. We don't stand a chance without you. I have to protect my daughter, you understand, right? I'd do anything for her."

PJ was about to explode in a fit of rage, but before he could, another, bigger explosion rocked the mansion's foundation. One of the walls of the garage was blown away, kicking up a thick cloud of dust that threw itself over the whole room, eliminating visibility.

"You idiot! Blowing up the time machine gave away our location to the Conspirium!" PJ shouted through the choking dust. He instinctively ran for cover behind one of the classic cars, using his sight memory to locate it. The dust was already starting to settle, and PJ peeked out to see a small army of Conspirium soldiers wearing advanced combat mech suits advancing through the hole in the wall. He couldn't see what had become of the rest of his party. PJ swore as he raised his gun and sprayed bullets in the direction of the Conspirium soldiers, which only bounced off the high tech armor futilely. He swore again, dropped the gun, and retreated further into the garage.

"Little dude, where are you? Sensei?!" Van Stomm was calling from somewhere behind him, but PJ ignored it. The garage was full of vehicles, maybe he could escape in one of them? He looked at what was close by. Lots of luxury cars, flying and otherwise, many built for speed, but too conspicuous, as they would make easy targets to shoot down. There was a motorcycle―an actual motorcycle, not a flying one―and he gravitated toward it. It didn't offer much protection, but it would be small and fast and closer to his size. He decided it was his best chance.

Upon arriving at it, he discovered it was electric. He popped off a section of plastic casing to hot-wire it while looking back over his shoulder in time to see the Conspirium soldiers already bearing down on the villagers. Van Stomm had, of course, surrendered immediately. The three villagers were trying to hold the soldiers off, but their guns were completely ineffective and the soldiers marched fearlessly through the gunfire.

They had betrayed him, he didn't need to go back and save them, PJ rationalized. What could he do, anyways? Those mech suits looked unstoppable. For some reason, PJ felt guilty and hesitated to abandon them. Thoughts of his former strike team crept into his mind. This was why he'd always preferred to do things alone. At least if you were alone, you wouldn't have to lose anyone else. He shook his head to clear it and revved the engine. The electric bike was very sensitive and shot out so fast he almost fell off backwards.

He weaved through the displays toward the garage's proper exit ramp, away from the soldiers. The bike could really move, which gave PJ a slight smile from the thrill. He caught air off the ramp and zoomed into the night, but the ships overhead spotted him and accelerated his way. Some descended down ahead of him, cutting off his escape, so he redirected his bike off the paved road and onto the expansive grass lawn, dodging bullets as they started to rain down.

The airships seemed to be faster than him, but on his electric bike, he had better mobility. More ships would appear in front of him to cut him off, and he'd have to turn to avoid them, only for others to get ahead of him and do it again. He was being herded further and further away from the mansion and closer to the river, where he'd run out of room to drive. They had him trapped, and he knew it.

A small, wooden mill stood quietly on the bank of the river, a waterwheel churning happily away at its side. In the dark, it was his best reference point, to see how close he was to the water. Thinking quickly, PJ accelerated toward his mark. The airships followed hot on his tail. They didn't cut him off this time, thinking the river would do that for him. He urged the bike to go faster.

Rapidly approaching the water's edge, the airships slowed down, anticipating him to bank left or right, but he maintained a straight course for the river. The mill whizzed past on his left, and the ground suddenly dropped off by a few feet at the bank, causing his motorcycle to sail through the air. Timing it perfectly, PJ leapt from the seat of his bike, diving at an angle so his velocity would carry him away from where it would crash.

The bike hit the water with a large splash. Searchlights from the airships above watched as it slowly sank below the choppy surface. Other lights panned this way and that, searching for the rider, waiting for him to surface. After a quarter of an hour passed, it became clear that he never would.

* * *

When day broke, he didn't know how many miles lay between him and the mansion. Exhausted, PJ crawled onto a pebble-strewn beach to dry off and rest.

That was it. He'd blown it. He'd been given one last chance to stop the Conspirium, and he failed. He'd failed his country, he'd failed his family, he'd failed himself. It hit him like a ton of bricks when that thought started to sink in: he'd never see Marie, Phineas, or Isabella ever again. Hungry, tired, heart-broken, and utterly alone, PJ curled up in a small patch of sand and cried himself to sleep.


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The United North American Kingdom  
Five years later

It had been another short summer. The calendar said it was already time for fall, yet some of the trees were only just beginning to blossom. After the UNA Kingdom's war with Eurasia decades ago, this nuclear winter was still leaving its impact on the world climate.

In spite of that, PJ had prospered again this year, and in preparation for the onset of another long, cold winter, he had nothing to fear as far as rations went. He had more than enough food, and he'd prepared several extra piles of firewood this time, to make sure his small cabin would stay nice and toasty. It wasn't much when he remembered what his old life was like, but compared to his brutal first winter here, this was living the high life.

He'd found a spring that gave him a constant source of fresh, clean water. A lake close by, fed by the spring's runoff, had an abundance of fish, now that the villagers were no longer overfishing it. And whenever he wanted something else to eat, he could always steal rations from the Kingdom's new guard post that had been erected over Villagetown's ruins.

His latest project, which he'd been working on all day, had been experimenting with brick-making. He dreamed this year of reinforcing his cabin with brick to insulate it better, but he decidedly did not have Phineas and Ferb's constructing abilities. It was slow going, and he hadn't figured out how long to heat the mud to make the brick waterproof. The problem could also lie in his fire kiln, which might not be getting hot enough. He'd baked three trial bricks today, which he'd test in the lake tomorrow after they cooled.

That plan lingered in his mind as he slogged up his little trail to home. The walk wasn't far, soon he was laying his tools out on the porch before stepping inside to make dinner.

He was pretty proud of the cabin he'd built, using the examples from Villagetown's ruins to learn the architectural basics and such. Therein lay his struggles in brick-making, he didn't have many examples to observe in the ruins, and certainly no one to show him how to make them, as opposed to stacking logs, which was pretty intuitive. The cabin itself was small with a low roof―make it too spacious and it would cost more firewood to keep warm, and it's not like he needed the headspace of a human-sized dwelling. Since there wasn't a lot of room, he only kept the essentials inside: cooking utensils, his hand-made rocking chair he always sat in when keeping warm by the fire, the straw mat with his favorite blankets made of sheep's wool from the village, a bladder he filled with water at the spring every morning. Survival was a simple life, filled with hard work, but he'd healed here. It was home.

Dinner consisted of the usual fish, worms, and insect larvae he'd caught that dawn at his lake. After eating, he rocked peacefully in his chair by the fire, as per his usual nightly routine, remembering his old life with the Flynns. The same questions ran through his mind that did every night.

What had happened to them? By this point, he'd imagined so many scenarios, but one always came back to him. After all, he knew so very well what the protocol for a nuclear threat to the Capitol was. As far as he knew, Isabella was at the White House that day. If the President was in the White House when the Secret Service learned of the nuclear threat, with no chance of evacuation due to the EMP, she would most likely have been whisked to the underground nuclear shelter buried beneath the residence. So would Phineas, if he was there―if he was away working, then he'd have been safe from the bomb anyways.

Unfortunately, Marie would not have been so lucky. If she were home, that's where she'd be brought, too; but it was a school day. The thought made PJ's heart catch in his throat. She was almost certainly still at school when the EMP hit. Due to the riots downtown, the school might have been on lockdown, but he wasn't sure. Either way, she would have had her bodyguard with her, which was good, but they'd have been stranded by the EMP, like everyone else. There was no telling what they'd have done after that. They might have decided to walk all the way to the White House, or maybe they followed their classmates to one of the Conspirium evacuation towers. He really hoped they didn't do that, the thought of what Suzy Johnson would do if Marie were delivered to her on a silver platter scared him more than anything.

No. Phineas and Isabella would find a way to get her to the bomb shelter. Isabella had always fought her bodyguards tooth-and-nail over protecting her husband and daughter more than herself. If he knew her, the only way the Secret Service would be locking her up inside the White House's nuclear bunker without Marie and Phineas would be over her dead body. They'd have found a way to get Marie to safety. _After all, this was_ Phineas and Isabella Flynn _we're talking about here! They can do anything!_

He hoped so desperately that were true, but the reality was, this future, he couldn't imagine it existing if Phineas and Ferb and Isabella survived. And he'd snooped around enough UNA Kingdom outposts, picking up on things that had happened during his time jump, to see the writing on the wall. He'd probably never know the full details, but as much as he hoped and wished he was wrong, prospects weren't good. Ultimately, if Phineas and Ferb had survived, they'd have stopped the Conspirium long ago. They hadn't. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out.

He forced himself to stop thinking about it whenever he reached that depressing conclusion.

Back in the good timeline, of course, thanks to time travel, most people already knew the time and circumstances surrounding their eventual deaths. Curiously enough, everyone dealt with that morbid knowledge in their own unique ways, just like they do with everything. For example, in PJ's case, he'd never wanted to know, preferring to leave it a mystery so he could live in the now. Phineas, on the other hand, was optimistic as always in the face of his own mortality, to the point of practically ignoring it―he talked more about all the cool things his future self was going to do than he did of his actual death. Everyone handled death differently, but thanks to advanced medicine and time travel, it was rare for people not to die happy of old age. Back in the good timeline.

Before he knew it, PJ was dozing off in his rocking chair next to the fireplace. Not wanting to fall asleep in that spot, he got up to stretch before stoking the coals gently. Then, stifling a yawn, he laid down on his bed to sleep.

* * *

As usual, PJ rose at the crack of dawn to hunt and fish. He passed by his kiln on the way to the lake, which looked like it had cooled sufficiently overnight. He'd be back later to see how his bricks turned out.

His hunting technique had improved vastly over his time spent living alone in the wilderness. He was now skilled with using both a spear and a net on his dives. Soon, he had caught plenty of fresh food, more than enough to last him through the day. He let some of his prey go and carried the rest home as the sun began to rise.

After breakfast, he returned to the location of his kiln in a field just down the trail from his cabin. The three bricks he'd made the previous day had acquired a rougher texture and a sturdier level of hardness, and made a 'thunking' noise when he tapped them, which seemed like good signs. He carried one of them with him to the lake to see how the waterproofing went.

His fishing nets were still drying on the rocks where he'd left them. After fetching one of his old failed experiments to compare results with, he set the bricks on the shore and began pouring water over them with one of his sheepskin bladders. He tried pouring water hard and fast as well as soft and slow, simulating rain and heavy storms as best he could. The old brick visibly dissolved under the water he continually poured, eventually splitting into two smaller pieces after a few good splashes. His new brick, however, seemed to be holding up strong. He picked it up to feel it, pleased that it seemed to resist the water completely. His experiment had been a success! Phineas and Marie would have been proud if they could see him now!

Now that he'd figured out the correct mixture of clays and the right amount of baking time, he needed to expand his kiln, to make mass production more efficient. He went to work, daylight was a burnin'.

The labor could be considered backbreaking by some. PJ had to dig for a fresh supply of clays and mud, then carry the materials from the lake up to his mixing hole in a basket weaved of twigs and tree bark, where he added water and churned the mucky mess underfoot until it achieved a doughy texture. Any rocks or pebbles had to be removed by hand. Once all that was done, the clay was ready to be molded. He'd fashioned a square mold for this job a few days prior, to which he applied fish oils to lubricate the sides so that the mud would cleanly slide out of the mold, retaining its rectangular shape.

It was already mid-afternoon by the time he was ready to start with the actual brick making. With the mold in hand, he packed it with clay, leveled the top, and laid it all on a flat, even surface before sliding the mold off, to start the process again. The soft, squishy blocks needed time to dry and solidify before they could be stackable for the kiln. Drying took about a day. Then he'd use these blocks to expand his kiln, at which point he could finally start with actually baking bricks. It was a slow and difficult process. Despite that fact, he found a simple pleasure in the manual labor.

The hours quietly slipped by while he toiled in the forest clearing. Nothing out of the ordinary was going on, it was just another typical day.

Until, as he was running out of mixing clay, he heard a distinct popping noise somewhere very close by in the forest, one that was all too familiar.

The sound of a time machine exiting the slipspace rupture, jumping back into the regular flow of time.

PJ jumped up, holding his breath, listening. _Was his mind playing tricks on him?_

Moments later, he heard the also familiar sound of the Kingdom's flying motorcycles overhead. Four Conspirium hovercraft passed by overhead, not seeming to notice PJ in the small clearing below them. They were flying low, as if preparing for landing.

Swiftly realizing what had just happened, PJ blasted off in the direction of the noise, the direction the flying motorcycles were heading. He could hear the noisy engines rumbling only a few hundred yards away. A minute later, slightly winded, PJ ducked in cover behind an exposed tree stump and watched as eight Kingdom soldiers dismounted from their vehicles and approached a genuine, bona fide time machine.

The door to the time machine opened, and its frame was filled by a tall, caucasian male who appeared to be in the prime of his twenties. The man was long-legged and athletically built; while his muscles weren't exactly large, they were well enough defined to show that he kept a toned physique. Something about him looked strangely familiar to PJ.

"Hello," he said, casually approaching the Kingdom soldiers. "Can you help me? I think I'm lost. I'm looking for the Emerald Galaxies Resort, I booked a space cruise with them, can I get some directions?"

The Kingdom soldiers looked at each other and shared a quick laugh before their leader extracted his machine gun and aimed it at the lost time traveler. "You're under arrest!"

In an instant, the time traveler's face went pale. He raised his hands over his head. "Sorry, did I end up in the wrong country? I'm an American, I have my traveling documents with me! I'm sure this is just a simple mistake, a computer glitch, or something…"

"You hear that, boys? He's an American! Now he's broken two laws!" the soldier said, and the others laughed again.

"Ha ha heh," the American laughed with them, thinking it was a joke, until he realized they were serious. "Wait, it's illegal to be an American here? Where the heck am I?

The leader chuckled. "Welcome to the United North American Kingdom, bub."

Confusion showing all over his face, the unfortunate time traveler was surrounded by the Kingdom soldiers and handcuffed.

While no one was watching, PJ made his move. Taking on all the armed soldiers head-on was suicide. So he improvised, and decided to create a diversion. He climbed onto one of the flying motorcycles without being noticed, flipped a switch to start its engine, and took off into the sky.

The soldiers turned around when they heard the engine firing up. "Hey, what's going on?" All they saw was a metallic streak as the hovercraft shot off. They ran to their own speeders and gave chase―all but the two men whose speeder PJ took, who watched on from the ground with stupefied expressions.

PJ glanced back over his shoulder to see three flying motorcycles chasing after him. All as one, the Kingdom soldiers lowered goggles down over their faces and leaned forward, becoming more aerodynamic. PJ revved his engine. While the pilots were focused on the flying, the copilots extracted their guns and opened fire.

At the sound of gunfire, PJ veered side to side, trying to make himself as difficult as possible to hit while at the same time trying to see if he could shake the men on his tail. They kept pace without difficulty, managing to not only keep in his wake but to even close some of the distance. He attempted a loop-de-loop to get behind them and gain the advantage of the chase, but the three other motorcycles kept right up with him, looping in sync. At this point, one of the motorcycles broke formation with the other two to fly ahead, cutting PJ off.

Without goggles, the wind was forcing PJ to squint, and he didn't see the third motorcycle make its move. He was glancing over his shoulder, wondering why there were only two behind him, when he checked ahead of him and saw the third flying straight at him. The soldier piloting in front was grinning widely, clearly proud of his accomplishment, while his co-pilot reloaded the machine gun strapped around his shoulders, preparing to take aim. Panicking, PJ let go of the thruster, causing his motorcycle to stall, and he started to fall towards the forest canopy.

The pilot ahead watched him plummet, a look of disappointment written on his face, before looking up to see he was about to collide with his fellow motorcyclists. The soldier screamed and smashed into one of the others, creating a fireball and wicked explosion. The last motorcycle veered to the side, avoiding damage.

PJ revved the handlebar, trying to break his fall. Just as he was about to crash into the trees below, the bike engine caught, and he shot forward again, just narrowly avoiding the canopy. By keeping his altitude low, the last motorcycle was forced to descend to skirting the treetops to continue the chase. PJ picked the most dangerous route he could, weaving in and out of the highest branches, giving him the added benefit of cover from more gunfire.

The other motorcycle zigged and zagged along behind him, keeping pace. They were flying in the direction of PJ's lake. At that moment, PJ remembered there were some cliffs at the far side of the lake. He lowered his speed and ducked completely beneath the forest canopy, still keeping as high a speed as he could without crashing. The other motorcycle was right on his tail. He bobbed and weaved continuously, forcing his pursuers to keep on their toes or crash in the branches themselves. Knowing the cliffs were not much farther ahead, PJ squinted through the brush, trying to find the best trapping point. He zagged through the last few trees and there it was, the cliff face. He pulled up sharply, climbing into the sky.

The other motorcycle wasn't ready for that move. The pilots failed to see the cliff in time, and before they could pull up, they smashed at full speed into the rocks.

PJ pumped his fist victoriously. He directed his speeder back in the direction of the time machine, quickly returning to the spot. On the ground, the last two Kingdom soldiers were still standing there, watching him. As he pulled in for a landing, they lifted their machine guns to fire at him. He ducked behind the tiny windshield and drove his bike straight towards them. Although they fired a few rounds, when they saw the imminent crash, they dove out of the way.

Moving quickly, PJ bailed from the bike midair, letting it crash somewhere into the trees in the distance. He pounced on the closer soldier, grabbed the gun out of his hands, and knocked him out with the butt of the weapon before quickly aiming it at the other soldier. The last man raised himself to his feet, but PJ was too fast, squeezing the trigger just as the soldier brought up his gun. _Rat-a-tat!_ The man went down with a thud.

With that, PJ lowered his sights and looked over at the time traveler. "You alright?"

The unfortunate fellow was crouched on the ground a few feet away with his arms shielding his head. Letting himself relax, he answered, "Yeah, I'm good. Who were those guys?"

"Soldiers from the UNA Kingdom. They constantly scan the entire continent for time machine radiation and dispatch teams to destroy every time machine that arrives and arrest anyone from the past."

The time traveler got his first good look at PJ and stopped short. "Hey, I know you!" he said. "You're PJ the platypus!"

PJ raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Have we met somewhere? You look sort of familiar."

"Yes, yes we have! In Danville, actually. I spent a lot of time there, back in the good ol' days, and we crossed paths once or twice. You see, I'm a huge fan of Phineas and Ferb."

"Aha." Danville could be a pilgrimage of sorts for fans of the boys. Irving Du Bois, a childhood friend of theirs, had erected a large museum close to the location of their original backyard, where they built all their projects as kids. "I'm glad you didn't confuse me with Perry, my father. A lot of Phineas' and Ferb's fans have mistaken me for him."

"Ha, amateurs," the time traveler smirked. "A true fan like myself could easily deduce that Perry couldn't possibly be here, so I immediately knew it was, instead, you! Plus, he couldn't talk."

He acted a bit more eccentric when he spoke of Phineas and Ferb, it was slightly off-putting. "Right," PJ said.

"I'm Michael, by the way," the man said, extending his hands, which were still cuffed, to shake.

"Oh, let me get that for you," PJ said, turning down the handshake to grab the key card from the soldier's belt and swiping it across the lock, releasing him.

"Thanks," Michael offered.

"Hold on to your thanks for now," PJ quickly said, "because I'm going to need to take your time machine. It's a matter of national security."

"I figured you say that," shrugged the man. "The thing is, I had it biometrically assigned to me. No one except me can drive it."

"Then you're taking me back to the past with you." PJ gripped the gun in his hands a little tighter, just in case. He wasn't letting another time machine slip through his fingers.

"Sure, no problem," Michael responded, not noticing PJ's tenseness as he turned to walk back to his time machine. "Where and when am I dropping you off? Hey, PJ? You alright?"

Approaching the machine was like walking towards a fallen telephone pole with exposed live wires. As PJ tiptoed toward the device, he was overcome by the most eerie, confused, and somewhat nostalgic of feelings. Like deja vu, only―not? Words failed to describe it adequately.

"Are you okay?" repeated Michael.

Trying to shake the strange feeling off, PJ said, "I just thought I'd never see one of these again." He slid a hand along the chassis, as if needing to confirm it was really there.

Michael was watching him with a somewhat pitying look. "If you need a minute, I can―"

"No, let's get going," PJ said, not wanting to chance spending another second in this timeline. He climbed into the passenger's seat and buckled himself it.

"As a lazy tailor would say," Michael responded, flipping the switch to the ignition, "suit yourself." He then chuckled at his joke before again inquiring, "So, where―and when―are we going?"

The answer to that question had been at the forefront of PJ's mind ceaselessly for the last five years.

* * *

Danville, USA  
July 4, 2049

The Museum was closed for the holiday, so there was no one around to notice when the hall labelled "Gadgets Through The Ages" suddenly flared brilliantly with a strange, otherworldly illumination. A dark figure, caught by surprise as the unexpected guest materialized into view, shielded its eyes from the flash.

PJ the platypus stepped out from hiding to confront Suzy Johnson. "Hold it right there, Suzy!" he said, extending a finger. "I finally got you!" He held up the futuristic machine gun he'd brought along and leveled it at the extremely confused assassin.

The look on her face was the picture of bamboozlement. "Huh?"


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Washington D.C.  
July 5, 2049

Home.

PJ took a deep breath, smelling the nostalgia in the air. It was hard to believe he was finally back. He'd missed this place so much. After five long years, walking through the familiar halls of the White House again felt like a dream.

He was led by an aide to the white door of the Oval Office and told to wait outside in the West Wing. He climbed into a suede blue armchair and tilted his head back, remembering his short time spent working here as part of the Secret Service, and his even shorter time spent living here as a member of the First Family. After his meeting with Isabella, he planned to go straight to Marie's room to wait to surprise her there when she got home from school. Just imagining her reaction brought a smile to his face.

The president's secretary popped her head out the Oval Office door, pulling him back from his thoughts. "Agent PJ, the President will see you now." He hopped to his feet and strolled inside, enjoying the warm feeling glowing from somewhere above his navel.

Isabella rose as he entered. "Welcome, Agent PJ," she said, gracefully skirting the edge of her desk to meet him at the center of the room to shake hands.

"You have no idea how happy I am to see you again, alive and well, Isabella," he replied, shaking her hand for longer than normally prudent.

"Um, Agent PJ? Please, I'd appreciate it if you addressed me as 'President Flynn' or 'Madame President,'" she gently scolded, retracting her hand.

PJ was taken slightly aback. She'd never had a problem with him calling her by name before.

She didn't linger on it, quickly returning to her seat behind the desk. "And as for―well, I'd introduce you, but that seems counterintuitive," she said, gesturing with her hand towards―his time clone, PJ the platypus. He was dressed in full Secret Service regalia: black suit, white shirt, earpiece, and all.

PJ nodded. "Hi, me."

"Hi back," his alternate self curtly responded. _Wait, something's not right._

Isabella quickly got to business. "Director Johnson has been detained under your authority, Agent PJ." She peered at him over interlocking fingers. "While I trust my bodyguards' judgment, in this case, I would like to know, in your own words, why you have seen fit to arrest the Director of the CIA, one of my trusted advisers, as well as a member of my extended family."

PJ blinked. "Is that a joke?"

"I would certainly hope not," Isabella said, deadly serious.

PJ's time clone stepped forward. "If he really is me from the future, he must be experiencing some chronal disorientation. He's obviously changed something about his past, sometimes it takes a while to get your bearings in the new timeline."

 _Of course!_ PJ mentally facepalmed for forgetting about that. "Yes, I stopped something very bad from happening in the future, but I guess it resulted in a few consequences that I'm not aware of yet."

He'd stopped Suzy from going back in time and ever trying to assassinate Phineas, Ferb, and Isabella as kids in the first place. More importantly, he stopped her from masterminding all of the Conspirium's operations, particularly the EMP and nuclear attacks. He'd saved the future. But at what cost? He needed to find out.

"All right, I'll tell my story from the beginning, and then we can compare notes to see what's different in this timeline," he suggested.

Isabella nodded. "But first, just to confirm you are _really_ from the future, please tell Agent PJ here your contingency password."

PJ glanced at his time clone. "It's―" He lowered his voice. "Perry."

The other PJ nodded. "He is who he says he is, Madame President."

"Very well, you can leave now, if you wish."

"Thank you, Madame President. It's probably for the best if I don't know too much about my own future." With that, his time clone walked out, leaving only PJ, Isabella, and her other advisers in the room. All eyes fell expectantly on him.

He cleared his throat. "Let me start by asking you this, Madame President: when you and Phineas and Ferb were kids, do you remember a blonde assassin from the future ever visiting to try to kill you?"

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "I don't―think so… We did have lots of wild adventures as kids, but I think I'd remember something like that."

"It would have been on the Fourth of July, 2014. Exactly thirty-five years ago yesterday. Are you sure you don't remember anything like that happening?"

Isabella shook her head. "I'm positive. The only times we ever messed with time travel as kids were when Phineas, Ferb, and Candace accidentally got stuck in 65 million BC, and this one other time they needed a tool that could fuse steel and wood at a molecular level."

"So you don't remember meeting me in the year 2014?"

The President cocked an eyebrow. "Agent PJ, the first time we met was the day I was sworn into office, this past January. And travelling to anytime before 2043 is illegal, so I hope you aren't admitting to doing so."

PJ felt his shoulders slump. "I was afraid you'd say that. I really am gonna have to start at the beginning."

* * *

"So, Suzy was the leader of this criminal syndicate, this―Conspirium?" Isabella asked.

"Well, she wasn't the leader, more like the mastermind. The second-in-command. The leader is Kyle Konig. He calls himself 'The King,' and so do all of his followers."

"And do you have any proof of all this, besides your word?"

"No. But I have something even better: intel. I can tell you dozens of names, locations, and bank accounts to look into, that should be enough to corroborate my story."

"I'll ask you for them later. So then what happened?"

PJ paused to recollect his thoughts. "After I got flung into the alternate future, I was stranded there for five years before I finally stumbled across someone with a working time machine. I thought the best way to stop the EMP and nuclear strikes was by stopping the person behind it all, and there were only a few points in the timeline where I knew exactly when and where she'd be. So I picked the moment before Suzy first used the time machine in the Danville Museum to go back to the past. The point where it all started."

His story finished, the room fell silent. Isabella sighed, seeming to be deep in thought. "I believe you, Agent PJ," she uttered, "although we'll corroborate your story with the names you have later. But if what you're telling me is all true, then you have done this nation a great―no, your actions are beyond exemplary. You went above and beyond your duties as a Secret Serviceman to save us. You are a true hero. And you have my gratitude. I'll create a task force to arrest any other members of the Conspirium of which you are aware. If you'll please give those names to my aide and lifelong friend, Gretchen, here, I promise you that all your efforts will not have been in vain."

The one named Gretchen transmitted a gentle smile at being introduced. "I'll take those names as soon as you're ready, Agent PJ." She gestured for the secretary's office.

"That's it? That's all you need from me?"

"Once we've made sure that the crisis with the Conspirium has been averted, we can figure out what to do about your living arrangements in this timeline," Isabella said with a weary smile. "Now go get some rest, Agent PJ. You look like you've been through a lot."

PJ stopped before he reached the door. "Wait, I have one more thing I'd like to ask of you, Madame President."

"Oh? And what's that?"

"When Marie gets home from school, can you tell her I'm back? I can't tell you how anxious I've been to see her again after all these years."

Isabella paused uncertainly. "Um, forgive me for asking," she politely said, "but who is Marie?"

All the blood drained from PJ's face. It was like all the oxygen in the room had been sucked out. "N-n-nevermind," he stuttered. "I'll―I'll go work on those names now."

As he walked out of the Oval Office, he had to use the doorframe to keep his balance steady.

* * *

"Kyle Konig, Ezekiel Okeko, Senator Cash, Supreme Court Justice Benson, 'Detective' Markus Douglas," Gretchen read her list back to PJ. "Can you think of anyone else?"

"Those were the most high-profile targets," PJ admitted. "I can't remember the names of all the lower ranking Conspirium cultists. There was also a warehouse outside New York that served as one of their hideouts and storage facilities. Then they also had a Command Center out in the Appalachian mountains. Get me map of those locations, and I'll show you where. You should be able to round up hundreds more members if you can take them by surprise."

Gretchen scribbled furiously on her notepad.

"Can I ask you something?" PJ asked, unattached from the work they were doing.

"Of course," replied Gretchen.

"In this timeline, is President Flynn still married to―no, wait, the better question is, who is she married to? She is married, right? I think I saw a wedding ring."

"Isabella is married to Phineas in this timeline," explained Gretchen. "Phineas Flynn, the one and only. Along with his brother, he's the foremost scientist and engineer in the whole―"

PJ held up a hand to cut her off. "It's the same in the timeline I came from, thanks. Actually, I just realized that was a dumb question! Of course she's married to Phineas, otherwise she'd be President _Garcia-Shapiro_ , not President Flynn!" He cleared his throat, then spoke again. "Do they, by chance, have any children in this timeline?"

Gretchen shot him a surprised look. "No, they don't. Did they in yours?"

That confirmed his suspicions. Devastated, PJ's gaze sunk down to the floor. Then just as quickly, he perked back up to pretend like nothing happened. "Of course not! I was just making sure!" He waved it off with a hand.

Gretchen eyed him suspiciously, but ultimately decided not to press him. "Okay then, is there anything else I should know about the Conspirium before I give Isabella my report?"

* * *

Washington D.C.  
August 14, 2049

6:00 am. Exercise.  
7:00 am. Breakfast.  
7:30 am. Morning walk to feed ducks at pond.  
8:00 am. Empty.  
12:00 pm. Lunch.  
12:30 pm. Empty.  
5:00 pm. Dinner.  
5:30 pm. Empty.  
10:00 pm. Bedtime.

After a month of this daily routine, PJ's life in his empty little bachelor pad was beginning to feel as empty and incomplete as his schedule. His only other regular activities were buying groceries once per week and cashing in his monthly allotment check, awarded to him by President Flynn as payment for his services to the country. He'd tried job hunting with little success; not many businesses wanted to hire an anthropomorphic, talking animal as an employee. Just going out in public was as much of a hassle as it had always been for him, if not more so. About the only positive memories he'd had over the past few weeks came as a result of his newly discovered affection for soap operas.

This was better, right?

He didn't have to hunt, chop wood, mend nets, sow blankets, start fires, cook food, bake bricks, or live on the lam from UNA Kingdom soldiers constantly searching for him. No more freezing winters or dark, hungry nights.

The great war between the UNA Kingdom and the Afro-Eurasia allies, which had taken billions of lives, had been prevented. And its resultant nuclear winter had likewise been averted.

The untold suffering brought on by Konig's and Suzy's reign of terror, which could have made Stalin's hair curl. The widespread poverty, the living conditions representative of the Middle Ages, so that the Conspirium's leaders could live their lives in luxury. The screams of the people of Villagetown being slaughtered, down to the last child, for ransacking Governor Bevermont's mansion.

None of it would ever happen.

Phineas and Isabella were alive. The Conspirium had collapsed on itself without Suzy and Konig. The country was intact, and indeed, prospering. Everything was the way it should be.

So why did he still feel like he'd failed? And how come the homesickness and loneliness still hadn't gone away?

As if he even had to ask. He knew exactly why.

Even though she never even existed in this timeline, PJ still felt like he'd lost Marie. Somehow, it didn't matter that she had never been born, there was still a gaping hole in his heart. He felt the same way about Isabella and Phineas, too. It was true he had basically saved the world, yet it didn't feel that way to him. It felt like he'd still lost.

The same depression he'd plodded through five years ago after being marooned was settling back in. If anything, it was worse this time; he couldn't simply make himself busy, having no need to work to survive the elements anymore. And it wasn't just that. Sure, he was no stranger to loneliness, to the feeling that he didn't fit in anywhere. But after having tasted what it was like to have someone, to be part of a family for the first time, it stung more this go around.

The Phineas and Ferb he knew would have called and asked him about his day weeks ago. This timeline's versions of them hadn't reached out to him once. Marie would have been the first to notice he was feeling down in the dumps, and would have tried something to cheer him up, like throwing him a surprise birthday party, fully knowing it wasn't really his birthday. Even Isabella, despite being extremely busy, would have probably slipped him a hand-written note or something in passing, likely including an inspirational quote of some sort. Well, he didn't work for her now, there wasn't space for him to have his old job back in the Secret Service. His own time clone was already filling that post.

Meanwhile, the most social interaction he'd had over the past month was getting stared at while waiting at the bus stop on his grocery runs.

The boredom, the loneliness, the depression, it all came to a head. He was sick of it. There had to be something he could do about this.

So he finally decided to make the call.

* * *

Summertime Industries  
Danville, USA  
August 16, 2049

At two-hundred-thirteen stories tall, the central location of Phineas' and Ferb's world-renowned toy store was as imagination-defying as any of their other projects. While it certainly couldn't hold a candle to the boy's skyscraper on the far side of the Moon by size, it nevertheless remained one of the tallest free-standing structures presently on Earth. Not only did it serve as HQ for the massively popular business the boys had created together, it was also one of the largest storefront locations in the world, easily rivaling most malls in the square-footage department, and on top of that, twenty-five of the stories were dedicated to its own indoor theme park.

It was hard not to be awed in its presence, no matter how many times one had visited it before. This was no different for PJ, who had teleported in that very morning. The view from the window on this, the two-hundred-ninth floor, was stunning. As for the rest of the waiting lounge he had been ushered to, it was no less glamorous. The walls and carpet reminded him of the Oval Office―they might even be the same shade of gold, he thought. It certainly presented a facade that was comparable in power and influence to the President's. Depending on who you asked, maybe Phineas' and Ferb's was the greater of the two.

Eventually, a door opened, and Phineas emerged, wearing a white shirt and tie and a pair of tan slacks. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows. Ferb shadowed his brother, donned in a gentleman's suit that PJ guessed was imported from his home country. Phineas put on a smile. "Welcome, Agent PJ," he said pleasantly. "I'm Phineas, and this is my brother and business partner, Ferb."

"Do you really need to introduce yourselves?" asked the platypus, accepting their handshakes.

Phineas shrugged. "Our reputation doesn't always precede us. I think it's a good habit to stay in." He coughed to clear his throat. "Anyways, I think I can guess why you're here. Ferb?"

Ferb produced a briefcase and proceeded to set it on a nearby desk before flipping it open.

"You're here because of your history, correct?" asked the redhead.

PJ thought that was a funny way of putting it, but, "Yeah, that's why I needed to talk to you two, and nobody else."

Phineas sighed, glancing at Ferb, looking like they were uncomfortable. PJ started becoming confused.

"Of course, it's only fair that you know the truth," admitted Phineas, before extracting some documents from Ferb's briefcase. "Agent PJ, I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but you are actually a clone of our former pet platypus, Perry." He cordially extended PJ a bulging manila folder that looked like it had been seared in red ink.

PJ blinked. "What?"

"It's true," Phineas explained, dropping the file in PJ's hands. "I'm sure you must be very confused by all this, so let me explain. It all started when Ferb and I were brought in on a top secret project―"

"What? No, that isn't why I came here at all!" PJ slammed the manila folder back on the desk.

"Huh?" Now it was Phineas' turn to be confused. "You mean you already knew about Perry?"

"Of course I do! I learned all about it eons ago! I'm here because when I fixed the timeline, I think I screwed up and caused something else just as bad to happen! And I want to know if I can fix it!"

The inventor prodigy looked like he was still held up on something. "So, you're not still blaming us for what they did to you at OWCA Academy?"

"Oh, no," PJ shook his head. "I got over that a long time ago."

"Whew! Boy, are we sure glad to hear that!" Phineas and Ferb exhaled in relief in unison. "We felt terrible about it, we really did, but OWCA didn't give us a choice! Our hands were tied, legally, there was nothing we could do but watch as they took you away to enlist in the Academy."

"I know, Phineas. You told me that already, in my original timeline."

"Still, we are truly sorry for it. Ferb and I need to apologize. So what's this about messing up something in the timeline?"

PJ briefly recounted his story once again, although he was careful to leave out the details concerning Marie being Phineas' and Isabella's nonexistent child. "So once I had been in the current timeline for a little while, I realized that someone very important to me in my original timeline never existed in this one. If it were as easy as undoing the change I made, I'd do it, but then I'd be dooming the whole world by letting Suzy and the Conspirium win. It just feels like no matter what I do, I can't put things back to the way they're supposed to be."

Phineas' chin was in his hand, PJ could practically hear the gears turning inside the man's head. He nodded at Ferb before meeting PJ's eyes. "Agent PJ, if what you say is true, then the entire body of scientific evidence Ferb and I have amassed over our lengthy and distinguished careers is all completely and utterly wrong."

The grave seriousness in his voice made PJ freeze, worried he'd offended them. "I'm… sorry?"

Phineas only broke into a boyish grin PJ recognized from days long ago. "Don't be. That's actually―exhilarating!" He stood from his seat and began to pace back and forth. "Baljeet helped us do the math years ago, but the empirical evidence just never lined up with the numbers! Why, Ferb! This might be the answer we've been looking for!" He rubbed his hands together at the prospect.

Once again, Phineas was talking about something far beyond PJ's comprehension. He waited patiently while Phineas paced and mumbled to himself, frequently exchanging glances with Ferb, who'd nod in reply, before Phineas would return to pacing and mumbling scientific gibberish again.

"...And that experiment with the frogs in Amsterdam, where the cheese was all transmogrified back into those billy goats? Remember what Baljeet calculated for the probability of _that_ happening? Ten to the power of two-thousand eight-hundred and sixty-four against! And that experiment with the meteorites from Antarctica, where the tuning forks all started resonating at the same frequency as the pulsar from Cygnus Gamma? Ten to the power of eight-thousand, six-hundred and twelve against! If our results were skewed that time as well, that's more improbable than the entire continent of Pangea suddenly reforming itself! Taken all together, the chances of all our time travel experiments being statistical outliers is practically on par with the prospect of entropy decreasing in every experiment for only one team of researchers, while every other scientist in the universe observes the second law of thermodynamics exactly the way they're supposed to! I mean, we've suspected our data has been outliers since that time, but now we might finally have actual evidence!"

PJ didn't understand a lick of it.

"And if that is true," Phineas stopped pacing to bring his hand back to his chin, "then there must be some underlying force that overrides probability mechanics at the quantum level, but only in certain cases. And for some reason, those cases always involve whatever we're doing, Ferb. We'll need to run some more experiments to be sure."

"Um," interrupted PJ, "I'm not sure what you're going on about, just please tell me it has anything to do with bringing back Mar―I mean, the original timeline."

"Whoops, sorry, I did the thing again," Phineas said, sheepishly. "Listen, Agent PJ, when Ferb and I were exploring the laws of physics regarding time travel, our experiments always gave us the following result." He rolled a whiteboard up to the group and uncapped a marker. "Time can be defined in a number of ways, but when it comes to time travel, one way we are able to measure it is as a function of cause and effect." He drew a straight, horizontal line through the center of the white board. "This is the flow of time. The cause is here," he placed an 'X' at the left end of the line, "and the effect follows." He placed another 'X' at the right side. "Normally, time always flows in one direction, and the cause always happens before the effect. Make sense so far?"

"Uh-huh." PJ nodded.

"When we introduce time travel, an observer gains the ability to do one or more of several things. First, going to the past. From the observer's point of view, the effect appears to happen before the cause. Also, the observer can alter the initial conditions of the cause, which can lead to different consequences." Halfway down the line, he drew a diagonal line branching off in another direction. "However, our experiments showed that whatever initial conditions we varied, the end result _never_ had any statistically significant changes." He reconnected the diagonal line back to the original line.

PJ remembered the time he sat in Marie's time travel class. "I think I've heard this before. It's supposed to be impossible to change the future, right?"

"That's what we thought," Phineas said. "But there was no reason why this should be the case. When Baljeet helped us with the math, he agreed with our initial estimates, that wildly different outcomes should be possible. Yet for whatever reason, we just never saw any. So, we shrugged our shoulders and forgot about it.

"But according to Baljeet's calculations, it should be possible for branching timelines to exist, under the right conditions." He drew another offshoot, then another. "These timelines could be vastly different from each other. Ferb and I never managed to find a way to see one, but it sounds like you have."

"Really? You're saying I managed to do something even you couldn't do?"

"That's right." Phineas smiled. "In science, theory and mathematics are important, but observation trumps them all. Ferb and I have been wondering lately whether it was possible some mysterious… force, for lack of better word―for a while, we've been calling it 'Force X'―was affecting our experiments."

"In what way?"

"In only the most positive outcome possible, every time. That's the only way I can explain it. For every cause, Force X inexplicably always leads to a positive consequence to Ferb's and my actions. It mostly seems to affect just us. But you, on the other hand, like most people, haven't been targeted by it the same way we have, for whatever reason. So you were more susceptible to getting thrown into negative outcomes." He reached up to circle one of the branches in his drawing. "Like a bad future timeline."

"That's an understatement," muttered PJ. "It was horrible."

"PJ, from what you're telling us, this proves we were wrong! That means there is more science to be done! Ferb and I are so excited to be discovering this!" Phineas said boisterously.

"That's―great," grunted PJ, feeling somehow belittled for his ordeal being reduced to a scientific breakthrough.

"Yeah, I'm gonna have to call Isabella later and tell her she was right," Phineas added as an afterthought. "The timeline can be changed after all. So in the end, it was a good thing we outlawed traveling to the past. Ah, science continues to move forward."

Losing his patience, PJ raised his voice. "Look, is it possible for me to correct the timeline I was originally from, or not?"

Phineas looked at him, jolted out of his train of thought. "Oh, sorry, I forgot about that! Here, let's take a look." He erased the whiteboard and started with a new horizontal line. "Okay, so from what you told us, in the original timeline, let's call it T-1, Suzy and her cabal used an EMP attack to takeover the country, is that right?"

"No, in the original timeline, none of that happened. That was all part of what Suzy did to change the timeline."

"Aha. So T-1 was a good timeline, and something Suzy did caused a branch-off into T-2, which was a bad timeline?"

"Correct."

"So you were stuck about a hundred years down the timeline before you finally found a time machine and used it to arrest Suzy at some point here, before the branch-off?" He drew an 'X' a short distance before the fork.

"In summary, yes."

"So you should be back in T-1, but you say that there are some differences between what you remember of T-1 and what exists right now?"

"Mm-hm."

"Then that would make this T-3. And what, precisely, is different about T-3 from T-1?"

"Uh…" PJ hesitated. "I can't tell you."

Phineas glanced at his brother. "Agent PJ, we want to help, but to do that, we need to know all the variables."

He didn't want to tell them, and had planned not to this whole time. Despite that, on a whim, PJ blurted, "I need to save Marie, your daughter."

The jaws of both brothers dropped. "Wh-what?" stammered Phineas.

Sighing, PJ clarified. "In T-1, you and Isabella have a teenage daughter who is like a sister to me. In fact, after I went back in time to save you from the blonde haired assassin when you were kids, we became friends, and after that, you and Isabella adopted me into the family. In 2049. We were all a family. You, Isabella, Marie, and me. And Ferb and his family, too; Vanessa and Thomas."

The boys were speechless.

"We all lived together in the White House. Sure, we were all busy and had our separate lives going on. Isabella had a country to lead. You and Ferb worked together when you could, but you left most of the company in Ferb's and Vanessa's hands so you could support Isabella with her job and Marie with school. Then I was hard at work hunting down the Conspirium. But at the end of the day, we would all come back together. We called each other by name. No 'Agent PJ,' no 'President Flynn' this or 'Madame President' that."

Surprising himself more than anyone else in the room, his eyes began to blur. PJ blinked the water away swiftly, before the boys could notice. "I would give anything to go back to that. But I can't throw away the lives of millions of people, either. That's why I needed to know―if you two can tell me, unequivocally, that going back won't change the future, I'll stay here. I'll sacrifice my family for the greater good of the country. But if there's a chance I can save both, I want to try. I have to try..."

His voice faded away into nothing, and a heavy silence descended on the room.

Phineas turned to his brother. "What do you say, Ferb?"

Ferb's lips parted, but his face remained as stoic as ever. "I say, go for it."

Phineas turned to PJ and smiled. "Then it's settled. We'll do whatever we can to get you back to T-1, Agent―I mean, PJ."

A flood of gratitude flushed over him. "Thank you."

* * *

 **Thanks for reading, and have a Merry Christmas!**


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Danville, USA  
July 4, 2049

The Museum was closed for the holiday, so there was no one _else_ around to notice when the hall labelled "Gadgets Through The Ages" suddenly flared brilliantly with a strange, otherworldly illumination. A platypus exited the futuristic looking time machine that had just appeared, looked out, and saw his time clone waiting there for him.

PJ stared unblinkingly at his past self, waiting for him to exit the machine.

His time clone padded down the ramp to meet him face to face. "Well, hi, me."

"Hi yourself."

"I suppose this means you're here to stop me from arresting Suzy before she goes back in time to try to assassinate the boys and Isabella?"

"I'm afraid so."

"What happens?"

"Too much to explain here. But to prevent a paradox, Phineas and Ferb gave me this." With that, PJ held up a device that looked somewhat like a camera recorder and pressed a button. The device emitted a flash, and the eyes of PJ's past self turned glossy. PJ caught him before his limp body fell to the floor. "That should erase your memories of seeing me here, and keep you knocked out for a while. Once you come to, you'll realize you missed Suzy's arrival, jump back in time, and arrest her, setting you on the path I've been on for the past month." He lugged his body back up the ramp of his doppelganger's time machine, typed a few commands into the automatic pilot, and watched the vehicle zoom off.

Just then, there was a crashing sound coming from the entrance to the museum. PJ hid himself behind the display of an uncannily realistic T-rex model.

Footsteps began echoing down the corridor, announcing Suzy's arrival. The blonde haired assassin made her way for the time machine, totally unaware of PJ's presence. Humming to herself, she climbed into the time machine, fiddled with the switches, and pulled the lever, beginning her thirty-five year journey into the past.

Alone once again, PJ emerged from his hiding place to return to his own time machine. "Time to see if that worked," he said to himself as he put out his hand to open the pod door.

 _POP!_

PJ turned around when he heard the familiar noise of a time machine popping into the room.

An identical time machine to the one he was just about to enter sat parked not a few feet away. The automatic door swung open, revealing a red, bloody mess inside, and another time clone of PJ staggered down the ramp, hand pressed to his stomach, trying to stop a wound that was guzzling blood.

Instinctively, PJ ran forward to help him down. "Oh jeez, me, what happened?"

His time clone collapsed in his arms. PJ held himself in his hands, watching himself die before his eyes.

The time clone gurgled blood as he tried to form words, looking up at the ceiling instead of meeting PJ's eyes. Every breath was a struggle for life. "Don't… arrest... Suzy…" was all he managed to whisper.

"There might be a first aid kit in the time machine," PJ said, setting his dying self down to go look. The other PJ grabbed his wrist to hold him close.

"Don't... arrest... Suzy... when she... gets back from 2014…"

A million questions were running through PJ's head. That was exactly his plan, to arrest her the moment she returned―ensuring a timeline where he'd bonded with Phineas, Ferb, and Isabella back when they were kids, as it was supposed to be, while still capturing Suzy before she could do any lasting damage. "Why?" he insisted. "What happened?"

His future self took another couple of shallow, wracking breaths, then went limp in PJ's arms.

The platypus swore under his breath. His heart was racing, his hands shaking. He gently lowered his own dead body to the floor and rose uneasily to his feet.

Whatever happened in that version of the future must have been bad. Real bad. "What is happening?" PJ whispered between rapid, shallow breaths. Fear was gripping his heart, with cold fingers. He couldn't catch his breath. He couldn't control his diaphragm. He couldn't stop his blood-soaked hands from shaking.

Without warning, his time clone's dead body, all the blood that had spilled onto the floor and rubbed off on his hands, along with the time machine he had arrived in, suddenly vanished without a trace. That future didn't exist anymore.

But the image of his own final breath could not be so easily expunged from PJ's mind.

He backpedaled into his time machine, waiting for his heart to stop hammering in his chest. He'd never felt this scared in his life. He crouched down on all fours and dry heaved before focusing all his energy on controlling his breathing. A few minutes passed. He told himself he wasn't in any danger, over and over, repeating it in his mind, and the panic attack started to reside. PJ shook his mind clear, forced his breathing under control.

It took a while to successfully calm himself. As his ability to reason returned, he started to think. _Okay, if arresting her here after her trip to the past is a no-go, where else in the timeline do I know Suzy's location?_ He thought back to what had happened next after he returned from protecting the kids in 2014. He'd next run into Suzy at her home outside D.C. There they fought, that was when Suzy sicced her giant, mutant poodle on him. He next saw her while breaking out of the HQ building for the Department of Homeland Security, where he was being held by the Conspirium moles in the DHS. After that, he didn't cross paths with her again until the day of the EMP.

Those were his three remaining chances. Her house, the DHS HQ, and the building where PJ's team had perished. Now PJ understood why he'd met his time clone there, all those years ago. So that meant he needed to try that option, right?

But that was a problem. The EMP hit minutes after the explosion. If he went there, there was a chance he'd be stranded without a time machine again. There would be no returning if something went wrong.

What was the harm in trying the other two first?

 _POP!_

PJ looked up to see the same scene as before repeating itself in front of him. A time machine identical to his own had appeared once again. He immediately jumped to his feet, preparing himself for the worst.

The automatic door whizzed as it slid open and the ramp extended out to the floor. A slender foot stepped out onto the ramp, but it wasn't webbed―it wore a shoe.

PJ gasped. The shoe was connected to a long, skinny leg that stretched longer than the length of his entire body, up until it met a short, black battle skirt. His eyes rose further, passing over a bare midriff, black tank top, and withdrawn bo staff, then finally taking in the stare of a battle hardened warrior, whose fierce gaze almost made him take a step back. He immediately recognized who these features belonged to, despite the appreciable length the owner's red curls had grown out to.

Marie pulled off her sunglasses and broke into a big smile. "PJ! Thank goodness! I was afraid I got your directions wrong for a minute, but who cares about that―it's so good to see you!" She rushed forward and pulled him into a bear hug that crushed his ribcage.

Thunderstruck, PJ finally regained the presence of mind to hug her back. "Marie, you're so―big! And strong!" He winced.

She released him, letting him catch his breath. "Sorry, it's just been a really long time since I've seen you."

"It's okay, I'm glad to see you too. What's this about? Why are you here, wearing those clothes, in my time machine?"

"I'm here to deliver a message. From you, in my time. 'Don't try to arrest Suzy at her house or at the place where you were held prisoner."

A shiver of fear broke through the brief wave of happiness he'd rode upon seeing her. "Tell me everything."

* * *

"After you tried time travelling to arrest Suzy at the Department of Homeland Security HQ, the Conspirium figured out your plan to stop them by time hopping. Forced to accelerate their plans, they wiped out the entire East Coast with a surprise EMP attack a week later. You had told Mom and Dad that the EMP wasn't supposed to hit until late September, so we weren't prepared for it. Mom and Dad didn't make it. Uncle Ferb was assassinated by Suzy herself before he could build a time machine to go back and warn us. The Conspirium is everywhere.

"After that, you and I, we stuck together. We formed a resistance. You taught me, and everyone willing to join our cause, how to fight. We were as close as a brother and sister. You said, if we could either find or fix ourselves a time machine, we could go back and stop it all from happening. But before we could, the Conspirium found us. You sacrificed yourself so that I could escape, and just like that, the last of my family was gone.

"I was on the run for a long time after that. Surviving on my own, scrounging for parts until I could put this thing back in working order. You told me everything, in case you didn't make it, so that I could know how to save the world. You said to meet you at exactly this place and time, and to tell you to try 'the third option'― _don't try to arrest Suzy at her house or at the place where you were held prisoner._ You made sure I memorized that sentence, word for word."

PJ's legs were shaking. He sat down on the ramp of his time machine and put his head in his hands. "Oh my Giodee. This is a nightmare that never ends."

After watching him for a moment, Marie propped her bo staff against her time machine and looked down at her hands. "Hmm," she hummed to herself, before pacing across the room and sitting on the ramp next to PJ. "I guess I've earned a chance to relax for once," she sighed, before looking back at her time machine. Now that PJ looked at it more closely, it did look like it had a bit more wear and tear than his did. For Marie to fix it after shorting out from an EMP, she must have had to replace most or all of its electrical components on her own.

"There were a hundred things that could have gone wrong," she said softly, following his gaze and guessing what he was thinking. "I was super extra careful, you know, the whole time I was fixing it. I think this is the first thing I ever made that didn't blow up."

Unable to help himself, PJ let a chuckle escape. That made Marie laugh, too, and suddenly they were both bursting in an uncontrollable fit of giggles. It didn't last long, however, and they rapidly fell quiet again a few moments later.

They sat like that for maybe a minute or two. Eventually, Marie looked back down at her hands again. "Well, I haven't popped out of existence yet. Guess that means the future is still bad."

"Wha?" PJ recoiled. "Wh-who told you you were gonna pop out of existence?"

Marie grinned. "I figured out how to tell when you were lying. Plus, you always seem to forget, I know my science! I understand how time travel works." The grin faded. "I always knew this would be a one-way trip."

"And you came anyways?" PJ's gaze returned to the floor. "That's really brave. I can tell how much you've grown, Marie, and I gotta say, I'm proud of you."

He received a bittersweet smile in return. She squeezed his hand and didn't let go. "In case I don't get another chance to say it, I love you, PJ."

"I love you too, Marie."

"And I really am happy I got to see you again. This moment has made it all worth it. I can pop out of existence happy now."

"Marie, don't say that! I'm not going to let you pop out of existence!"

"You can't hold on to me, PJ. You have to change the future back to a good one! That's what both of us made so many sacrifices for!"

"But I've seen too many timelines now where that doesn't happen! What if it can't be done? What if the future really is unchangeable? It might be better to go back now, and at least stay in a timeline that's mostly good."

"You can do it, PJ! You're proof that the future can be changed! Just look at how many times you've changed it already! So you can't give up now."

"I-I… just… am not sure about anything anymore… I can't keep failing. It's breaking me."

"Then don't fail this time. You won't, because I'll be cheering you on the whole way!"

PJ deadpanned. "You just admitted that you're about to pop out of existence!"

"Well…" Marie faltered, "then―the version of me that's in the good future will be cheering you on!"

Lowering her voice, she added, "Look, PJ, you're our last hope. You're the only one who can save everyone we lost. Mom and Dad, Ferb and Vanessa, the whole country! We're all in your hands, so you can't give up, no matter how hopeless it looks! Think of all the millions of people out there who are counting on you!"

PJ stirred. "You're right. I can't give up yet. It's time I put my money where my mouth is." He stood up. "I've made up my mind, so the future is about to change. Marie, let me hug you one more time, before you disappear."

His sister smiled and leaned closer. They embraced, and PJ hid his tears from her as he felt her warm body start to fade away. She waxed more and more transparent until finally, with a soft _pop,_ she vanished.

* * *

Washington, D.C.  
September 28, 2049

Rioters covered the streets below like ants. Smashing windows, breaking into vehicles, ripping out ATM's, looting, fighting, destroying. Moving on only when there was nothing remaining of value or that could provide the pleasure of being smashed.

PJ flew over the scene, confirming that this state of affairs was precisely how he remembered T-1, his designated original timeline, should be. Veering towards the business district, the riotous crowds thinned out quickly as he streaked by. It didn't take long for him to find the restaurant he was looking for. He parked his time machine like a car a short distance away and set up watch, wondering how long it would take for his past self and Suzy to make their appearances.

He checked the time. It was just past noon. If he remembered correctly, the EMP had happened at about 1 o'clock. That meant he had an hour.

Or did he? Actually, time was relative with a time machine. As long as he didn't run out of fuel or get hit by the EMP, he could take as much time as he needed.

No, that was a dangerous way of thinking. He was still too traumatized by watching alternate versions of both himself and Marie die in his arms. He needed to be cautious about what he did. He needed a plan.

How could he use his knowledge of what was about to happen to outwit Suzy?

In a short time, his past self would chase Suzy into this restaurant. She'd then lure him away with a 3D hologram projection, and by the time he got back, his team would be arriving, and they would enter the building. That's when it blows up. And at some point, PJ's past self would encounter his future―or rather, current self.

It had been five years, but he believed he had the important details down.

The best chance to ambush Suzy was probably while she'd be controlling the 3D projector. With controls similar to that of a drone, they didn't have a very long range, and took focus to control convincingly. She would be totally defenseless. He could hide in the kitchen somewhere and easily sneak up on her.

It sounded foolproof. PJ's heart began to pound in anticipation as he locked his time machine and made for the restaurant to set his trap.

This restaurant was a popular Mexican fast food chain. Due to the day's riots, this location was closed. Remembering there was a back entrance in the alley, PJ roamed in that direction. Upon trying the door, he found it locked as well. No good.

He glanced around and saw an overflowing dumpster to his side, with lots of trash strewn about. Lying in sight amidst the garbage, he saw a discarded bobby pin. He quickly used it to pick the lock and entered.

Instantly he recognized it as the kitchen area he expected Suzy to come hide in. The lights were out, he elected to keep them that way. A low amount of ambient daylight leaked in from the doorway to the dining room. His eyes quickly adjusted, and he found a low bench to crawl under to wait.

In semidarkness, the room was a little spooky. The obscured shadows of meat grinders and conveyor belts played tricks on his eyes. Meanwhile, the waiting game dragged on. Five minutes became ten, then thirty. Now he had to have been waiting for over an hour. Didn't the EMP go off at 1? His memory was a little foggy, but he was certain that it didn't hit until after the restaurant exploded.

Self-doubt was mounting in PJ's head. What if he had the wrong address? No, this was definitely the right place. What if he got the date wrong? What if―

The door creaked open, almost making him jump. He could hear someone panting for breath, like they'd just been running. Footsteps. Suzy went off to find a hiding spot.

The door opened again, brightening the room somewhat, held ajar by what was no doubt PJ's time clone. PJ's breathing was so soft it was noiseless. His time clone carefully entered the kitchen and started to search for Suzy.

The time to make his move hadn't come yet. PJ waited.

His time clone was weaving back and forth through the workbenches and stovetops, getting warmer in his search, incrementally closing the distance on where Suzy had hidden herself.

 _SCREEE!_

The sound of metal scraping on metal split the silence. PJ's past self climbed onto one of the countertops to locate the noise, then suddenly dove out of the way as a knife whooshed through the air, narrowly missing him.

"Tag! You're it!" Suzy's voice projected from the hologram as her incorporeal form bolted out the kitchen for the front entrance. As expected, PJ's time clone fell for the bait, and he tore after her like a bloodhound. A crashing sound came from the dining room as he broke through a window with his momentum to give chase to the hologram through the streets.

Now was the time. PJ soundlessly crawled on all fours to where he'd observed the real Suzy hide. His eyes that had become so well adjusted by now could make out the blue lights of the 3D projector she was controlling, leading him straight to her. A feminine figure stood motionlessly, her back facing him, eyes glued to a small screen in her hands―completely unaware of his presence. PJ pounced.

"Oof!" Suzy grunted as she was tackled to the floor and pinned, facedown, with her arms behind her back.

"Suzy Johnson," PJ victoriously declared, "you are under arrest for committing various crimes against the state, including treason, sedition, and being the world's biggest pain in the donkey's you-know-what."

"I'm not Suzy."

"You have the right to remain silent―wait, what?"

"I'm not Suzy."

That voice… it wasn't the right pitch of sugary sweetness. And it totally lacked any hypnotic undertones. PJ's stomach dropped like a brick.

"Hold up, where's the light switch?" He climbed off the woman to hit the lights. The room flared into focus, making him squint for a moment as he looked at her more carefully.

She had the same blonde, curly hair as Suzy, and about the same figure, but when he saw her face, it was obvious she wasn't her. Just a body double. Another trick. Suzy had done it again.

PJ rubbed his face with his hands in frustration. He swore, not caring to check his language around a lady.

The blonde woman picked her controller back up and returned to operating it from her kneeling position on the floor, ignoring PJ.

"Where's Suzy?" he shouted.

The woman shrugged. "Probably in our secret hideout, planning our secret takeover." She didn't even look up, like she was playing a video game.

PJ seethed. Then he remembered what was about to happen. "Where's the bomb? I know you rigged this restaurant to blow up in a couple minutes!"

"Nope, you're talking about my husband. He's the one bringing the bomb."

She was being extremely unhelpful. PJ clenched his fists in anger, but balked at hitting a defenseless woman who clearly posed no threat. "Urgh! I don't have time for this! Look, I should arrest you for being involved with the Conspirium, but I've got bigger fish to fry! So stay here and get blown up for all I care!" He turned his tail to her and started to walk towards the front entrance.

"Yes, my husband will blow up you and all the rest of your team. He should be arriving any minute now. Suzy promised that our names will be honored by all in the coming age: the Waters family will be rewarded greatly for our sacrifice!"

PJ froze. Looking over his shoulder at the woman, he asked, "You're Waters' wife? Waters is a mole?"

Mrs. Waters clicked off the console in her hands; apparently, she was finished controlling the hologram Suzy. Still making no eye contact, she nodded.

 _So that was how Suzy always stayed one step ahead of us,_ PJ thought to himself. Jolting to his senses, he blasted off to go find his time clone to warn him about everything.

PJ galloped through the dining hall, leaped through the broken window, and ran for the familiar alley obstructed by a chain link fence half a block away. He effortlessly scaled the fence and churned down the alleyway, stopping just before it split, where he heard a huffing sound headed his way.

His time clone rounded the corner in a hurry, not even noticing PJ's presence until after he'd caught his past self by the shoulders and pulled him back against the wall.

"PJ, stop! It's me!"

His alternate self was panting to catch his breath from all the running. "Oh. Hi, me." He tried to push PJ off. "Look, I don't have time for this, future me. Suzy could still be close by!"

PJ held his grip. "Forget Suzy!" he barked, shaking his past self to get him to stop fighting him for a minute. "It's a trap! Listen to me, if you chase after Suzy now, everyone is going to die!"

That got his time clone's attention. "Confirmation code?" he asked.

PJ leaned in close and reverently whispered the password. "Perry." The other PJ wasn't resisting any more, so he gently let him go.

A thoughtful look crossed his time clone's face. "What else are you here to tell me?" It seemed PJ could read himself well. PJ had so much to tell his former self. He could save himself so much trouble― _but wait, this situation, didn't it seem a little familiar?_

PJ could tell his former self everything, right here. Then his time clone would stand a chance at finding Suzy and stopping the Conspirium. But if he did, he realized, he would change the future again, and pop out of existence. Just like Marie had.

He sighed. "I really wish I could stop you from making the biggest mistake of our life, but I know you―we―have to be allowed to make that choice for ourselves," he finally said. _Yes, I'm not ready to vanish from existence yet. I can't tell him―me._ PJ took a step back. "Let's see, what did I tell myself when I was in your shoes? It's been so long, I can hardly remember."

Irritated with the lack of helpful intel, his past self pushed PJ aside to take a step toward the restaurant. "Look, Suzy is just over there! I'm so close to getting her and stopping everything the Conspirium is trying to achieve! And you're saying that _that's_ a mistake?"

"She had this all planned out from the beginning," PJ responded. "She knows exactly what she's doing. The best thing you can do is ignore her. You're the only one who can stop the nukes from going off, and she knows it, that's why she's stalling you with these little diversions."

Past PJ's eyes bulged. "Nukes?"

PJ nodded. "Oh, yeah, nukes. Probably should have led with that."

"How did the Conspirium get access to nuclear weapons?"

PJ chose his words carefully. "I don't know, but they have a hidden bunker deep in the Appalachian mountains. It has a command center. Get there soon enough, and there's a chance you'll be able to stop the nukes from detonating."

Past PJ turned and looked off into the distance, visibly rattled. His gaze then fell on the restaurant with a laser-sharp focus, his eyes smoldering.

PJ walked up next to him. "PJ, I know what you're thinking. If you go down that road, all you'll see is suffering."

His time clone swiveled back to look PJ in the eyes. PJ gave him a somber look, remembering all he'd been through since he'd last lived this moment. The EMP. Being marooned in a future where the Conspirium had won. Leading the mayor of Villagetown on a futile mission to kidnap the Governor and steal his time machine, only to be betrayed and stranded, alone, for the next five years. Watching the UNA Kingdom army slaughter Villagetown afterwards as retribution for their uprising against the Kingdom. Then getting transported to a different timeline where Phineas, Ferb, and Isabella had never taken him in, one where Marie had never existed. And finally, watching his and Marie's time clones die to save him from other, unimaginably worse futures.

A rumbling noise overhead shook PJ out of his thoughts. Looking up, the two platypuses saw a squad car with PJ's full strike force piled in, descending to the street in front of them. Even from here, PJ could see Waters seated next to Olsen. PJ slipped out of sight before quickly disappearing back down the other way along the alley. After all, if Waters saw two PJ's waiting for him down there, he would figure out PJ was time traveling and tip Suzy off. He couldn't let that happen.

Leaving his past self and condemned team behind, PJ stopped behind a brick wall around the corner and leaned against it, shaking his head at himself. He'd failed to capture Suzy yet again. What more could he do? Time was running out, just like his options.

Without warning, a great explosion rocked the air, shaking the very ground and making his ears ring.

Should he have warned his past self about Waters' suicide bomb after all? And the EMP? And the nukes? The Conspirium Command Center? Would it have made a difference? Should he have risked popping out of existence if it would have saved the lives of his strike team? The guilt of failure began to wrack up inside him, to the point of overflowing. He numbly started to march back to his time machine.

Maybe he couldn't stop the Conspirium. Suzy had outflanked him in every instance. The good future he used to know seemed so out of reach. He just wasn't cut out for this job. He couldn't perform miracles, like Phineas and Ferb. He couldn't live up to the standard set by his father. He couldn't win the fight against evil. He was just a small, lonely platypus, an insignificant speck. Who was he kidding, thinking he could save the world? He couldn't even save his family.

 _Or could he?_

That was it. He'd been going about this the wrong way! He needed to stop trying to save the world, and just focus on saving his family!

If the rest of the world perished, he could survive, he could be happy, as long as he had Phineas, Isabella, and Marie with him. They could go into hiding, somewhere that Suzy would never find them.

PJ climbed into his time machine and slipped into the timestream with the press of a button.

* * *

 **Methinks this would be a good time to restate that the credit for creating Marie and Thomas goes to sam-ely-ember and Angelus19.**


	17. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Washington, D.C.  
September 28, 2049, 09:09 EDT

"Good morning, PJ. You said you had something you needed to discuss?" President Isabella Flynn looked PJ over as he stood in the center of the Oval Office, directly on the head of the eagle pattern embroidered into the rug beneath his feet. "You―look like you have a lot on your mind."

"Thank you for letting me see you. I know you have a busy schedule, and I promise this will be worth your time." He took a deep breath. "I'll get straight to it. I have come here from the future to warn you and Phineas and Ferb that the Conspirium are going to launch an EMP strike today, at just after 2 pm. They have also planted a nuclear bomb somewhere in the city, which will go off at precisely 8 pm tonight."

Isabella's eyes widened slightly at the news, but otherwise, she hid her reaction behind an impressive poker face. "I see. This is distressing. After all the mud being flung at me over the weekend, I thought things couldn't get much worse. These are certainly the times that try men's souls."

After that reflective soliloquy, she locked eyes with PJ. "So you're PJ's time clone, from the future? What course of action do you recommend? What should we do to stop the Conspirium?" She was looking at him intensely, full of faith that he had a solution. He couldn't look her in the eyes when she stared at him that way.

"To be frank," he directed to the floor, "I didn't come to make a plan. I came to tell you so you and Phineas and Marie could get somewhere safe."

The President cocked her head slightly to the side, furrowed her eyebrows. "What? You want to abandon―" She cut herself off, gazing at him more intensely. After a long pause, with a tone that reserved all judgment, she kindly said, "You must have been through a lot, PJ." If he looked as bad as he felt, she had apparently noticed. Isabella relayed him a gentle smile. "I may not know what you've gone through, but I can tell that you have sacrificed so much just to be standing here right now. You have my sincerest gratitude for giving so much and for trying so hard."

PJ felt ashamed to hear her praise him like that. "But I've failed to stop Suzy over and over again! What good has my trying so hard brought? Nothing! Everything I did ended up being worthless! I just can't beat them!" He hid his face in shame.

Isabella rose from her seat behind her desk and padded across the room to PJ, dropping to her knees at his side to put an arm around his shoulder. PJ expected her to say something, but she didn't―she just empathized with him. After a few moments trying to hold back the dam, his feelings burst out as a deluge of tears. Without hesitation, Isabella pulled him into her bosom, and he collapsed like a small child, crying into her shoulder. The President's aids watched awkwardly from their seats around the room, patiently allowing the scene to play out.

PJ had never cried like this before. What happened to the fierce OWCA agent who graduated top of the class? He was supposed to be steely eyed, not turning on the waterworks. Unflappable, not a moping mess. The semiaquatic personification of unstoppable, dynamic fury, v.2.0, was bawling his eyes out in the center of the most powerful office on earth!

Isabella didn't pay any heed to the stains his tears left on her neatly pressed jacket. She just comforted him, like a mother would, letting him feel what that was like for perhaps the first time in his life.

At last the tears began to pass. PJ broke from the embrace to wipe the moisture away with the back of his hand. Isabella kept her hands on his shoulders, holding him square to her body. "PJ," she said softly, "you've always tried to do everything on your own. It's why you're so strong. Now, it's time for you to learn that when you're not strong enough on your own, it's okay to ask someone for help. Being a family isn't just about protecting each other, it's about being a team. And teamwork can move mountains, one wheelbarrow at a time. Let's be a team from now on. What do you say, PJ? I know you've already done so much. Can you pick yourself back up and try again? Just one more time?"

It felt like getting his batteries recharged. PJ could feel a surge of energy from Isabella's support and encouragement. What was he thinking, just giving up and taking his family and running? He couldn't believe he had stooped so low. He'd almost made the same mistake as the Mayor of Villagetown, he realized, by putting his own needs in front of the rest of the world. He didn't know what else he could do, but if Isabella asked him to keep fighting a little longer, he would. PJ sniffed and nodded back at Isabella.

Just then, there was a curt knock at the door.

"One moment," Isabella called, while gently wiping away the remnants of PJ's tears.

The door impatiently burst open, ignoring her response. "Madame President, there's―" The Director of the Secret Service, and PJ's one-time boss, stopped when he saw the unexpected scene in front of him. PJ turned away to finish cleaning his face.

Isabella sighed. "What is it, Roland?"

"Sorry, Madame President, but it's an emergency. We've just received news that a riot broke out in the financial district. We need to move you somewhere safe."

* * *

"The Conspirium is behind this too," PJ explained in the Presidential Emergency Operations Center (PEOC), the communications and operations hub that was secured inside the White House's underground bunker. "Ezekiel Okeko is working for The King, Kyle Konig. The riot won't reach the White House, we're all safe here―at least until the EMP goes off, anyway."

"So it's a diversion," Isabella concluded.

"Suzy's plans always are," PJ noted somberly.

"Roland, I want Marie checked out of school and brought straight here, immediately."

"It's already been done, Madame President. Gustav is on his way here with her now."

Isabella seemed consoled by that news, her grip on her armrests lessened. "Have you heard back from Phineas yet?"

"No, ma'am, not since he and Mr. Fletcher set off to investigate the supposed changes to the timeline," Roland said.

"I think we can confirm that the timeline has been changed," Isabella muttered. "If you hear anything from the lab," she added, referring to Summertime Industries, where Phineas' and Ferb's lab was located, "I want to know right away."

"Yes ma'am."

PJ had been briefed a few minutes ago about how Phineas and Ferb had gone to work that morning to investigate the timeline changes. Nobody had heard back from them since, but it wasn't abnormal for those two to get caught up in their work. Since that put them in Danville, at least they were quite safe from the bomb. He just wished they would hurry up, it would be really useful if they could whip up something to stop the EMP and find the nuke before it went off.

Isabella tried calling Phineas' number again, just in case. Like every other time that morning, it went straight to voicemail. Isabella sighed and hung up.

"We're going to have to handle this crisis without Phineas and Ferb," she said resolutely.

"How?" asked the Chief of Staff, who was seated two empty chairs down the table from the President.

"There has to be a way we can make a preemptive strike," a five-star general who regularly advised the President offered.

"PJ, do you have any thoughts on this?" Isabella turned to PJ.

He wrung his hands before answering. "There is a Command Center. When I went there in a different timeline, Suzy and Konig were there, but it was fortified by a small army. Maybe if we hit them hard and fast, and caught them by surprise, but I don't see how we can mobilize a force strong enough to storm the compound before the EMP."

"I'll be the judge of that," said the general. "Where is this Command Center?"

PJ reached for the map he'd asked for. "Here," he pointed.

"I could have fighters from the nearest Air Force base scrambled in fifteen minutes," he said, whipping out his communication device. "On your command, Madame President, the whole compound could be leveled within the hour."

"But we don't just want the Conspirium wiped out," contended PJ. "We need Suzy and Konig alive to locate and disarm the nuke by tonight."

"Do we? As soon as Mr. Flynn and Mr. Fletcher get back, they should have no trouble dealing with that threat, right?"

"How do we know there is a nuclear threat at all?" asked the Chief of Staff. "What if the Conspirium are bluffing? Are we sure the EMP won't knock it out too?"

"They aren't bluffing," affirmed PJ. "In the timeline I came from, D.C. had been wiped off the map for almost a hundred years."

The room went silent for a moment. The one who broke the silence was Isabella.

"PJ," she said thoughtfully, "if Konig is the Conspirium's leader, what do you think of going back to Friday night and arresting him at the gala?"

"The gala?" asked PJ.

"For the Cincinnati Society, remember? The one where you were poisoned?"

It had been so long ago, PJ had almost forgotten about that. "That's right, we could easily take him in right then and there. Except…" he sighed when he realized why that wouldn't work. "Konig is their figurehead and rallying point, but Suzy is the Conspirium's mastermind. If we don't get Suzy, she'll use time travel to warn herself in the past and they'll adjust to some sort of countermeasures. It only works if we manage to get to her. She is priority number one."

"And what about the rest of the Conspirium leadership?" Isabella probed. "If we did manage to arrest Suzy, wouldn't someone else use a time machine to do the same thing?"

Even PJ hadn't thought of that. Isabella really was a sharp one. "It's possible," he admitted.

"Then it sounds to me like the only way to stop the Conspirium once and for all is to nab every member all at once. If even the lowest henchman or newest recruit gets away, they could turn back the clock on us and undo everything."

Every person in the room shot Isabella an incredulous glance. "But that could entail hundreds of individuals scattered all across the country," the Chief of Staff declared.

"Maybe thousands," PJ corrected. "And we don't know who most of them are. I don't even know how expansive their leadership is or what the complete chain of command looks like."

With everyone in the room now aware of how daunting the task ahead of them was, the air grew thin. "Then I don't see how we can win," the Chief of Staff resigned. "At best, we're looking at a stalemate. With both sides constantly using time travel to go back and outflank the other in a never ending cycle."

"I still think we should have our fighter jets bomb this Command Center of theirs to kingdom come," the general spoke. "If we're lucky, maybe we'll take out enough of their leadership all at once that we can discombobulate and disorganize their ranks. It might even stamp out the cult altogether."

Everyone looked at President Flynn expectantly. The final decision was hers. Isabella was looking curiously at PJ, and he had no idea why.

"Everyone, please give PJ and me the room," she finally said. Everyone shared a curious glance before they stood from the conference table and left. Once the Secret Security closed the door, PJ held his breath and waited for Isabella to speak first.

She reached into her purse and extracted her personal tablet, swiping the screen to turn it on. She quietly stroked the touch screen over and over again, all without saying a word to PJ. He watched her enter a security code that was easily over twenty digits long.

"PJ," she finally said, "did you know that in all the years Phineas and I have been married, we've never had a single fight?"

Whatever he was expecting her to say, it definitely wasn't that. "Um, congratulations?" He tilted his head, confused.

"We have disagreed about things, debated, even argued; heatedly, I might add, but never fought."

He had no idea what that had to do with stopping the Conspirium.

"One of the biggest disagreements we have had through the years, you might have heard, is about time travel. Phineas and Ferb's scientific work claims that the future is set, but you and I both know that isn't true."

"I'm not sure I follow."

"Oh, I bet you do. You say you've seen several very different timelines play out. There is no doubt the future can be changed, it just doesn't seem to affect Phineas and Ferb."

PJ remembered the conversation he had with them back in their office. "Right, things always tend to work themselves out when they're around. Or, at least, that's what I've heard."

Isabella nodded, still swiping away on her tablet. "Let me tell you about our first encounter with time travel as kids. It was the first day of That Summer, the day we built The Rollercoaster. After the ride was over, the craziest thing happened―two future versions of Candace, all grown up, came into the backyard and told us that they needed help getting back to their own time. The time machine at the Danville Museum was broken, and they needed Phineas and Ferb to fix it so they could get back."

"Wait, is this the same time machine that Suzy used this summer?"

"Mm-hm." Isabella nodded again. "Long story short, there had been this crazy chain of events that had all started when Phineas and Ferb took a quick trip to the future to borrow a wood-and-steel fusing tool. It was a bit of a mess, and I decided to clean things up by taking a little trip in the time machine myself, delivering the fusing tool to them before they ever went to the future, stopping grown-up Candace from ever accidentally making a bad future in the first place."

PJ could agree that that sounded familiar to his story. "What happened then?"

"After that, Candace never came from the future to get their help in the first place, and so consequently, they never knew that the timeline had already been changed multiple times. I was the only one who remembered everything. Ever since that day, I've been the only one who knew how dangerous time travel could be."

"Until now," breathed PJ, realizing what she was getting at.

"Until now. PJ," she paused to lock eyes with him, "the following conversation never happened." He nodded in understanding. Isabella then looked back down at her tablet. "Computer," she said aloud.

"Voice key confirmed," a cool, robotic voice declared. "Hello, Isabella, PJ."

"What is that?" PJ looked at the goofy robot face with square eyes and a waveform mouth that had appeared on her tablet screen.

"We did a lot of things as kids that, in hindsight, were pretty dangerous," Isabella said coyly. "Of which, time travel is but one. This is another: an omniscient supercomputer. The old model we made as kids could put Dr. Baljeet's quantum computer to shame, and this one's even more advanced."

"An _omniscient_ supercomputer?" PJ was stunned.

"My error range is calculated to be within precisely one-sextillionth of a percent," the computer factually stated. "So not totally omniscient."

"Isn't he cute?" Isabella said. "This, along with a small collection of Phineas' and Ferb's other inventions, ended up being too powerful, so we agreed that they should never be used, except in emergencies. They've been kept a secret ever since."

PJ marvelled.

"Of course," Isabela went on, "this is just an encrypted connection. His mainframe is actually located in a highly secured vault in Switzerland. The encrypted line has been built to disconnect after you get one question answered, so choose your words wisely." She slid the tablet over to him.

"We only get to ask one question?"

Isabella nodded. "A necessary precaution. Understand, PJ, if this fell into the wrong hands, it could potentially be an even bigger catastrophe than what we're facing now. Anything could happen. Maybe something so terrible that even Phineas and Ferb wouldn't be able to handle it. Not even if they took the risk of wearing the Brain Gain helmet to try to outthink the supercomputer, our best contingency plan in the event of that happening. That's another invention that's top secret, by the way. It's one of the most dangerous inventions on the list."

The seriousness in her voice made his spine shiver, even though he didn't have the vaguest clue as to what a 'Brain Gain helmet' could possibly be for.

"So, I just ask it how to defeat the Conspirium, and it'll tell me?"

"It'll tell you the logical answer to whatever you ask it, and nothing more," Isabella said.

With only one shot, PJ could feel the pressure. "Maybe it would be better if you did it, Isabella? I don't understand how these types of things work very well."

Isabella gave him a reassuring smile. "Nobody knows the Conspirium better than you do, PJ. I believe you are the person best suited to ask the best question."

Still uncertain, PJ slid the screen his way and looked down at the computer. What should he ask? There were a thousand questions he would like the answer to. How could they prevent the EMP? Where did the Conspirium hide the nuke? How many people had joined the cult? Who? How could they find them all? What about Suzy? Did she have any tricks left in her bag? Where had she been hiding this whole time? Could they defeat the Conspirium by taking her down? Or would they have to hunt down every last member? What was the safest place to be for Marie, Phineas, and Isabella? Was it still possible to change the timeline at all? And if he did, would he get deleted from existence?

He thought it over very carefully before he took a deep breath. "Computer," he began, "how do I save both my family and my country from the Conspirium?"

Without the slightest hesitation, the computer responded. "Get in your time machine and jump to precisely 5:17 pm this evening. Your destination is the Conspirium Command Center located in Button Creek, Virginia. Hide the time machine behind a large boulder shaped like an ear on the east side of the compound. Then, approach the fence with your hands up and surrender to the guards. If you follow these steps exactly, I am one hundred percent certain that you will save both your family and your country, PJ."

The face on the screen fizzled out and disappeared. PJ blinked in confusion. "That―that can't be right. Can it?" He glanced at Isabella.

"His instructions are always like that, but they are always right," she said.

"But what about the EMP? And the nuke?"

She took back the tablet and returned it to her brief-purse. "I don't know, PJ, you're just going to have to trust the computer on this one." She packed her things and approached the door.

PJ twisted in his seat to follow her with his eyes. "But that thing's plan―it's crazy! How is turning myself over to the Conspirium supposed to save the future?"

Isabella stopped and turned, one hand on the doorknob. "That's up to you, PJ. If anyone can do it, it's you." She twisted her hand and opened the door. Marie was standing there, one hand raised, as if she were about to knock.

"Oh, hi, Mom. What's going on? Why'd I get checked out of school early, and then brought here? Is everything okay?"

"Everything's going to be fine, right PJ?" Isabella directed his way.

PJ waved at Marie, happy to see her safe. "If you say so."

* * *

"Before I leave, there's a couple more things we should discuss," PJ said, once all the available members of Isabella's Cabinet, including the Vice President, as well as any remaining advisors, had been brought back in the conference room, whether physically or digitally. "First and foremost, we need to evacuate as many of you as we can from the city before the EMP, before the Conspirium takeover begins. In case my mission fails, we must have everyone in this room out of the city before two o'clock. Otherwise, it will become a lot harder to get to a safe distance from the blast radius by tonight."

"We are preparing a secret location for everyone to meet," Isabella said. "Your security teams are receiving the location as we speak. Time is not on our side, so please hurry. We also cannot risk anyone from the Conspirium finding out what we're doing. Do not tell anyone outside this room where the location is."

"If you can," added PJ, "take a time machine as your vehicle. If you are outside the flow of spacetime when the EMP hits, it'll protect your time machine and any other electronic devices you have with you. Plus, we also want to have as many back-up time machines on our side as possible. Furthermore, I highly recommend you bring all the electronic resources you'll need with you in your time machines. Anything extra you can bring along, such as communicators, radios, flashlights, batteries, etc., will be helpful, but bringing personal devices like computers and TV's won't be. If you aren't sure what to bring, think of what you would pack in an emergency preparedness bag."

"For another thing," Isabella took over, "another reason to use time machines to skip the EMP is that flying cars will lose power and crash when the pulse hits them. Whatever you do, don't get caught in the sky by it!"

"Shouldn't we warn the American people of the impending attack?" one of the Cabinet members asked.

"It's too risky," PJ said. "If Suzy Johnson finds out we know about the attacks, she'll alter the timeline to throw us off. This plan depends on secrecy to work. Of course we regret putting so many American lives on the line, but we simply have no other choice."

"Wouldn't forcing Suzy to alter the timeline be a good thing?" another person brought up. "It might even force her to delay the EMP attack."

"Or move it up," countered PJ. "I know it feels like we're in a worst-case scenario here, but this is the closest we've had to an upper hand against the Conspirium in a long time. If Suzy knows she has to change things, she'll find a way to press her advantage in some other way. We can't give her that option.

"Also, from what I saw of the future, the Conspirium wasn't trying to inflict massive casualties. The EMP and nuke were designed to deal a devastating blow to the US Government itself, not to kill its people. Konig wants all the subjects to rule he can get over once he sets himself up as the new King. What I'm saying is, there will be casualties, but it won't be as bad as you're probably thinking. The Conspirium is planning to evacuate all of Washington before the bomb goes off. Or at least, evacuate everyone that is willing to swear their allegiance to the Conspirium."

Everyone seemed appeased by that explanation. PJ turned to Isabella. "Have you been able to get a hold of Phineas yet?"

"No," she answered, "and Vanessa says she hasn't been able to reach Ferb, either."

PJ sighed. "I was really hoping to get their opinions before we started, but I guess we'll just have to manage without them for now. Okay, does anyone have any other questions?"

Everyone kept their peace.

"Then with that, Madame President," he said, turning to Isabella, "I will take my leave now to finish preparing for my mission."

Isabella flashed him a smile. "Good luck, PJ. Be safe."

"You too," he said. He quickly exited the room and was met outside by Marie.

"So there's gonna be an EMP, huh?" she said casually, stretching her arms over her head from a nearby chair.

PJ stopped in his tracks. "You were eavesdropping? That was a top secret meeting, Marie! You could get in serious trouble!" He looked around to see if any of her bodyguards were watching.

"Oh, posh," she hummed with a flippant gesture.

"And could you at least act a little more worried about the situation?"

"Listen, PJ," she said, ignoring him, "I want to help, so take this, okay?" She held out her hand.

It was a radio earpiece. "What's this for?" he said, picking up the earpiece.

"It's so I can help you on your mission! Duh!" she grinned, excitedly clenching her fists in a pose. "If you need information, I'll be ready to assist!" She pulled back her hair to show him that she already had her earpiece in.

"But it's not gonna work," he said. "The EMP…"

"You're skipping past the EMP with your time machine," she reminded him, "so it won't be affected!"

"I meant yours!"

"Right, that reminds me! I still need to make it!" She bounded for the door, bubbling with energy. "See ya!" She briefly turned to wave before making her exit.

"Make what?" he called after her. When he got no response, he added, "Just make sure you don't blow anything up, okay?" Normally, such a sentence might not be the wisest thing to shout around the Secret Service, but they all knew Marie too well at this point.

The earpiece hidden inside his earlobe crackled. "You don't have to shout, I can hear you just fine!" Marie's voice chided.

He must have put the earpiece in already without thinking. PJ shook his head but couldn't help smirking. He'd missed Marie so much.

* * *

The usual hustle and bustle of downtown D.C. attracted PJ's attention as he prepared his time machine to make the jump. It was sobering to see all these flocks of people seeing sights and conducting business and traveling to and fro, thoroughly unprepared for the ordeal that awaited them when the EMP hit. If his mission went south, he considered, this could be the last time he saw something as mundanely wonderful as a traffic light or enjoy the view of the towering Washington Monument.

He decided he had better get a move on. "This is Pidgeon One, I am all set and ready to take the plunge, over," he spoke into his communicator.

There was a pause, and then a voice he didn't recognize responded from the dash. "Roger, Pidgeon One, you are green to jump."

"Copy that," PJ said, setting down the transmitter and flipping a switch with his finger. "Jumping in five, four, three, two, one." He hit the big, circular button in the center of the control console. _Pop!_ The familiar, undulating sensation was accompanied by a barrage of psychedelic colors outside his windshield, then before he knew it, he landed with a jolt.

"I'm back," he said, looking at the deserted sidewalks and streets laden with dead vehicles.

"PJ! You made it!"

"Marie?" The teenager's voice rang loud and clear through his earpiece. "What's going on? How can I hear you? Did I miss the timing on my jump?" He double-checked his inputs on the console.

"No, you went dark around four or five hours ago, so this should be about right."

"Then how are you still there? The EMP should have, you know…"

"I told you, I was going to build a Faraday Cage to shield it!"

"Marie, first off, I don't know what that is, and secondly, you didn't tell me what you were up to, and I've told you a hundred times I can't read what's going on inside that crazy brain of yours."

"Yeah I did, I told you I was―" PJ could hear her breathing from the other end while she cast her mind back to their earlier conversation. "Okay, so I might have forgotten to tell you _that_ part," she admitted. "Still, you should have been able to figure it out on your own," she added with a pout. "A Faraday Cage is a―"

"Forget about that," PJ said as he soared into the sky. "Tell me you and Mom were able to make it out before the EMP."

"Obviously," she said. "We're at some military installation base somewhere. Mom's in her important meetings, as always. We still haven't heard anything from Dad or Uncle Ferb, though. Some of Mom's bodyguards sent out a search party after we got here. We haven't heard back from them yet. Ugh, it sucks, news takes forever to get here now." PJ guessed by the squeaking sound in his ear that she had started spinning in one of those spinny office chairs. She didn't seem to be too worried about the whereabouts of her father and uncle. He was certainly concerned.

"Aren't you worried about them?"

"I didn't say I wasn't. Dad probably just got carried away with something, some new toy he and Uncle Ferb invented at work today. And besides, if anything did happen to them, they can take care of themselves."

He didn't like it when she put it that way, but she had a point.

"So, anyway, what's going on at your end? Tell me about your mission! Do you need me to hack into anything? I can get you schematics, blueprints, whatever you need―it'll just take a while. The internet is terrible at the moment, and yes, I know I should just be happy we have power for anything right now, but still."

"Wait, you're at a computer?"

"Just my phone."

"You mean your―thingadowhatsit cage protected your phone from the EMP too?"

"You mean my Faraday Cage? Yeah, I put all my electronics inside it before the EMP hit."

 _You mean to tell me you knew about this magical cage thing that could stop EMP's from working this whole time?_ PJ was suddenly very interested in what this Faraday Cage thing was. "What is a Faraday Cage, anyway?"

"Basically any container with insulation inside and completely covered in metal on the outside. The EMP, or any electromagnetic field for that matter, is diverted around the outside, keeping anything inside safe, as discovered by Michael Faraday. He used to demonstrate his discovery by standing inside a metal cage while it was hit with lighting bolts. It's the same principle behind how come when lighting strikes an airplane it never electrocutes anybody, even though the metal on the plane conducts electricity."

PJ had been envisioning some sort of shield he could hold up, or something, to block out the EMP. It sounded more complicated than that. His fleeting hope that he could go back in time and maybe build a Faraday Cage around the whole country was quite outside the realm of possibility. They needed Phineas and Ferb for something like that.

"Now hurry up and tell me what your mission is!" exclaimed Marie.

PJ was already speeding in that direction. "I'm heading to the Conspirium's secret headquarters," he explained.

"Cool!" Marie responded enthusiastically. "Need me to look up the base's layout, hack into their systems, tell you where to go to sneak in and take them out?"

"Not exactly," PJ rejected. "What I have to do doesn't make any sense, but it's what Mom wants. You can't help me with it. But I am grateful for the company," he added as an afterthought.

"Well, if you do need my help with anything, you can count on me! Just say the words, PJ!"

PJ had one other thing he wanted to get off his chest, but was afraid of how corny it was going to come out. "Marie," he said after a long pause, "if I don't make it back, I just want you to know how proud I am of you. You're like the sister I never had. Being a part of this family has made me happier than I ever thought someone could possibly be."

"Aw, PJ, I'm touched," she said. "With me watching your back, you'll make it back, I promise! And when you get back, we're gonna drag Thomas over, and together, we're gonna build a rollercoaster so big it'll put everything Mom and Dad made as kids to shame!"

PJ grinned at her optimism. She must get that from her father. "It's a deal!" he said.

The city now far behind, he watched the countryside whisk past beneath him. It was the peak of fall, and the trees were all turned to a breathtaking hue of amber, orange, or red, glowing in the light of the lowering sun. Gazing at such a peaceful sight, he felt calmed as his vehicle raced westward toward the Appalachian mountains. All he had to do was hide his time machine and turn himself in, and somehow, that would stop Suzy and the Conspirium. Isabella seemed to have total faith in the supercomputer's clairvoyance. But how could giving himself over to Suzy possibly be all it took?

He guessed he'd find out. And if things started to look like they were headed south, at least he'd have a working time machine close by this time.


	18. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

The Conspirium Command Center  
Sept. 28, 2049

PJ the Platypus would be here soon, Suzy Johnson mused. She scanned her notes. Yes, it had been nearly an hour since he had taken out the welcoming party she'd sent for him in the storage basement, down at the lodge. In most of the time loops she'd studied, this was usually about the time he tended to show up somewhere inside the compound itself.

Suzy reached for the walkie-talkie at her side. "Attention, all units; we are shifting to high alert! PJ the Platypus should be arriving at any minute! If I were you, I'd pay especially close attention out on the west side of the compound, seeing as that's where you miserable cockroaches let him sneak in last time! We must stop PJ from reaching The King! Don't force me to have to time travel back here again, or I'll castrate all of you incompetent ingrates and feed your momentos to Shiela!"

Suzy had to give her nemesis credit. PJ was good, there was no doubt about it. She'd drilled her soldiers over and over again on his appearance, his methods, and even directed them to where he'd show up first, but no matter what she did, he'd always adapt and find a different angle to hit them from. And after taking out a sizeable chunk of her forces, he'd always drive her beloved out of the safety of the compound and up the mountainside. There, Kyle didn't stand a chance. PJ would always beat him to a pulp and arrest him.

The thought of watching that beaver-tailed monster hurt the man she had loved since childhood over and over again was unbearable. Yet she knew that it was just a matter of time before they'd beat PJ, once and for all. He could win the battle a hundred times, but without a time machine of his own, she only had to find one way to defeat him to win the war. And when she did, she intended to make the rest of his pathetic life as painful as possible.

* * *

The computer had at least been right about one thing. There was a large chunk of granite, about 30 feet across, located a couple of football field lengths east of the compound, which looked uncannily like an ear. PJ had found it without difficulty. The time machine's camo-mode was already activated as he flew in low and landed.

PJ parked his vehicle behind the rock and climbed out. Thinking ahead, he realized that the Conspirium would take his key if he held on to it. He tucked it behind a small rock propped against the side of the machine.

The Conspirium would never see his time machine from the compound. As long as nobody stumbled across this spot anytime soon, it should be safe. Satisfied, he turned and made his way toward the compound.

In a few minutes, his job would be finished. PJ had followed the computer's instructions exactly. Now, if it really was as prescient as Isabella boasted, it was just a matter of time before the Conspirium would be stopped.

Somehow.

* * *

Without warning, Suzy's radio went off. "Big Sister, this is Unit 40."

She grabbed her communicator. "Go ahead, Unit 40."

"We have him! I repeat, we have him!"

Had Suzy been drinking something at that moment, she would have spewed it everywhere. "Come again, Unit 40? Are you saying you have spotted PJ the Platypus?"

"Not just spotted, we have him detained!" rang the soldier. "He surrendered to us just moments ago! What are your orders, ma'am?"

Suzy was floored. Had all the training she'd been drilling her guards with finally paid off? After so many failed loops, she had to admit, she was starting to doubt her soldiers' competency.

Deciding she should confirm the soldier's words first, she turned to the guard beside her, who was controlling the drone. She had been watching the drone's footage for the past half-hour, scanning the compound for signs of PJ. "Zoom in on Unit 40's position!" The drone controller hit a few buttons, and the image in front of them panned over to the eastern watchtower. Suzy watched the image patiently, waiting for the lens to focus. Sure enough, there the platypus was, strapped in handcuffs, surrounded by several soldiers.

Suzy couldn't believe it. After all this time, _they'd finally managed to capture him!_ "Bring him to me!" she told her radio, a wicked smile curling across her lips. The drone was still zoomed in on PJ as an armed escort of half a dozen soldiers began to march him towards the glass doors of the Conspirium Command Center. As she visually kept track of their progress, feeling the seconds tick by, her heart was racing.

 _Kyle will surely be pleased with me this time!_ She reached for her personal communicator, eager to phone him the good news, then stopped herself mid-dial.

No, she realized. It would be better to wait until she could personally bring PJ before The King. Her Kyle would be so much more impressed that way! Surely he would show his appreciation for her then! Her stomach fluttered in anticipation.

* * *

 _Danville, USA  
_ _Thirty-five years earlier_

 _It was supposed to be an exciting day, but Suzy wasn't particularly looking forward to it. Five whole hours spent away from Jeremy? Preschool sounded like the pits. She already had limited time with her big brother as it was, between his work schedule and all that time he'd been spending with her nemesis, Candace. Those two had been seeing each other almost every day since Jeremy got back from Paris. Perhaps Suzy had been too merciful towards Candace in the past. If nothing else, she could use her time at school thinking of a way to get her back._

" _Welcome to your first day of preschool!" The plump teacher had a soft voice that sounded like she was out of breath, and her tiny button of a nose was fighting a constantly losing battle against the downsliding of her thick-rimmed glasses. Suzy immediately disliked this woman, and tugged at her mother's hand._

" _Don't be shy, Suzy" her mother said encouragingly. "Mrs. Beck is a very nice lady, and I'm sure you'll learn lots of things from her."_

I'm not shy, _Suzy thought to herself._ I just want to see how she'd look if someone spilled paint all over her nice, silky blouse. _That would serve her right for taking away her precious time with Jeremy._ _Of course, Suzy had no choice but to put on a smiling front for her mother. "Hi, my name's Suzy! Pleased to meet you." She made a perfect curtsy._

" _Oh, you're so adorable!" Mrs. Beck swooned, ogling over Suzy with her palms pressed flat against her cheeks._

" _Now be a good girl, Suzy," her mother said quickly, getting ready to walk back to the car. "Make lots of friends, and have fun!"_

" _Okay, Mommy!" Suzy smiled widely, showing as many teeth as she could manage while her mother departed._ How many years were there before she would be free of this despot's authority? _Rather than try counting, Suzy allowed herself to be led into the schoolhouse by her teacher, her new authority figure for the foreseeable future._

 _They walked through the door and entered the classroom. "Alright, everyone, toys down, eyes up!" Mrs. Beck announced with a much louder voice than Suzy expected a woman like her could muster. It grabbed the attention of all the toddlers scattered about the room. "Today, we have a new classmate! This is Suzy. Everyone, say 'Hi, Suzy!'"_

 _A dissonant chorus of 'Hi, Suzy's' rang through the classroom._

" _Suzy, so that we can all get to know you better, why don't you tell us something about yourself? It could be anything, like your favorite color, or favorite food."_

 _Suzy gazed at her teacher's beaming face. So, she was being allowed to make a good first impression before her classmates? Clearly, this woman had a lot to learn about using power correctly. She'd show this woman, no, she would show them all what true power looked like! Suzy took a step forward._

" _Well, as a matter of fact, my big brother, Jeremy, happens to be the bestest big brother in the whole world! And his favorite thing to do is pampering me like a princess, all day!" She put her hands on her hips and looked over her shoulder smugly._

 _If that didn't impress them, nothing would._

 _When a moment of silence passed, Suzy looked back over the room. All the other children were staring strangely at her. Where was the awe? The adoration? They should be marveling at the power she held. Had she miscalculated?_

" _My, aren't you precocious?" Mrs. Beck said, breaking the ice. Suzy's brow furrowed._

" _Let's see, there will be another fifteen minutes of play time," Mrs. Beck announced, glancing at the clock on the wall. "After clean-up, we'll move to our arts and crafts project for the day! Suzy, come this way. This is Gracie and Morgan. Girls, let Suzy play dolls with you." Before any of them could say otherwise, Suzy was set on a rug next to a couple of girls about her age, and Mrs. Beck shuffled off somewhere in a hurry. "No, Georgie, how many times do I have to tell you, we do not eat crayons!"_

 _Suzy glanced back and forth between her new comrades. "What are you playing?"_

 _The one to her right, Morgan, looked at her apologetically. "Um, sorry, but it's kind of a game for two people only. You can watch if you want."_

" _Oh," Suzy said, relegated to the role of spectatorship. "Okay."_

 _Resuming their game, the girls were now ignoring her, so Suzy puffed out her cheeks and looked around the room. The other kids were all playing with various toys. As her eyes scanned the room, she stopped when she saw a boy playing alone in the corner. She felt something stir inside her. A powerful feeling akin to how she felt when she looked at Jeremy, only stronger. Time seemed to stand still for her as she watched the boy._

 _He was the most handsome boy she had ever seen, and she immediately knew she was in love._

 _Leaving without a word as the two girls continued to play, she walked over to the boy. He sensed her approaching, causing him to look up. He had the most beautiful, emerald green eyes. They enthralled her as she burned that image into her memory._

 _Rising to greet her before she could even say anything, the boy said, "I'm Kyle, and someday, I'm going to be king over America. Want to help me?"_

 _For once in her brief life, the thought of lying never crossed Suzy's mind. "Yes."_

* * *

The elevator dinged. The door slid open. The soldiers roughly shoved the handcuffed platypus into the hallway, where Suzy at last laid eyes on her nemesis.

"Poor PJ the Platypus," she mocked, grinning wickedly as he was led before her. "It seems that your time has finally run out." She towered over him, basking in the power she exuded. Like a cobra, she lashed out in a vicious kick, sending him sprawling on his backside. "That's for what you did to Sheila," she said, watching him gingerly try to sit up.

PJ slowly got back to his feet without saying a word. However, he was glaring daggers at her now. Suzy twittered with laughter. "This is your own fault!" she squealed in delight. "I _did_ warn you, didn't I? So don't say I never did anything for you, PJ. You should have just given up when you had the chance. Pity. Now, The King is waiting, and something tells me he will be _very_ happy to see you!" With that, she spun on her heels and, with a wave of her hand, motioned for the soldiers to bring PJ. The throne room was just down the hall.

Suzy hummed happily as she strolled along. Kyle was definitely going to be pleased with her this time. She couldn't wait to see―

Without warning, bursts of gunfire erupted from outside the building, coming from the direction of the main plaza near the center of the compound. Suzy twisted around with a stomp. " _Now_ what's going on?" she snarled.

In response, her walkie-talkie crackled from her side. "The Platypus has just been spotted outside the Evil Science Division!" Suzy stared at her radio in bewilderment. "He's in the building now! All units, converge on the Evil Science Division!"

Snapping her radio to her mouth and mashing the transmission button, she bellowed, "Are you bozos braindead? PJ has already been captured! He can't be―" Suzy stopped and stared at PJ.

 _Impossible! He couldn't have―could he?_

Realizing what she must be thinking, the platypus quickly switched his expression to a look of innocence. That confirmed it.

Suzy's face flushed red. Snarling, she hurled the communicator at the platypus, who cooly cocked his head sideways, effortlessly dodging it. One of the guards standing behind him did not react so quickly, and the communicator collided on target with the man's groin. He grunted as his face turned pale, and the unfortunate man quickly collapsed. The other soldiers hesitated to go to his aid, as they had not been released from attention.

Ignoring the guard who had dropped to the floor, rolling in pain, Suzy pounced on the platypus. "Which one of you is the time clone?" she demanded. "Tell me! TELL ME!" She was shaking him by the throat. Her temper had flared up, and she realized the hypnotic suggestion implanted in her command had been weakened by her loss in control, as PJ was refusing to open his mouth.

"Resisting my hypnotic suggestions, are you?" Furious, she let go and reached for the belt of the next-nearest soldier, grabbing his handgun. "Fine, then we'll do this the old-fashioned way!" She cocked the weapon and burrowed it in PJ's temple. "Is the one out there a time clone? Or is it you?"

After being strangled so unexpectedly, the platypus needed to cough a couple times. At last, he finally opened his mouth. "Okay, yeah, I went and visited your future. Hated what you'd done with the place. It looked hideous. I had to come all the way back here just to tell you how awful your design sense is." He gave her another smug look.

Suzy glared. "Joke all you like," she said, and the corners of her mouth twisted upward into a sinister smile of her own. "It doesn't change the fact that you, standing here before me, are proof that our plan worked! I thought there was something different about you, now I know what! And that means, this time, The King finally defeated you―or should I say, _will_ finally defeat you! Of course, the fact you made it back from the future is troubling, but if I kill you right now, it won't matter."

PJ's eyes widened and he gulped audibly. That look was so delicious. Suzy moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, and lowered the weapon. "Unfortunately for you, I think I'll have even more fun taking my time! All these months spent hunting you have taught me patience, so I can wait a little while longer."

She gently patted him on the head, like she would a dog. Then, stooping down to his level, she leaned close to his ear and whispered, "I'll make sure you go through a hundred times more pain and suffering than anything you've ever felt before. As payback for all the times you hurt the one I love."

Snapping back to full height, Suzy indicated toward the guards. "Sargeant, take him to the holding cell. I've got to go deal with the other uninvited guest we have running around the compound."

"Yes, ma'am!" With that, the soldiers turned and started back the way they came, moving PJ once more into the elevator.

After the doors shut, Suzy bent over to pick up her walkie-talkie, feeling uneasy. PJ's time clone had to be some sort of distraction. There was no doubt that the two of them were working together, and she'd just taken the bait. She couldn't allow herself to be tricked at this critical juncture. With no choice but to assume that her time clone prisoner had already informed his past self about every trap she had laid, she needed to quickly come up with an alternate strategy.

She turned and marched down the hall to push open the wide, gilded doors that served as the entrance to the Throne Room. Finding herself alone, she skipped up the stairs and past the throne, making her way to the back, where Kyle's time machine sat. Kyle would understand, she reasoned, as long as the ends justified the means.

* * *

PJ was taken to one of the lower levels and led to a small room. It was about as drab as a holding cell could be, with empty, white concrete walls, a metal cot for a bed, and a toilet and washing bowl in the corner, both of which were human sized, and therefore too tall for him. Actually, PJ thought, because he was so small, it felt like had a lot of space; for someone his size.

His shackles were removed before the soldiers locked his cell and left. As soon as PJ was in the clear, he switched his earpiece back on. "Marie, are you still there?" The soldiers never took his earpiece when they searched him. They probably didn't even know where his ears were.

"Yeah, I'm here. I'm glad you're okay."

"I'm not out of the woods yet," PJ said. "They put me in a holding cell. Something's not right. Turning myself in was supposed to change the future, but nothing's happened. And now, if I don't get out of here, soon, Suzy and Konig are going to send my past self a hundred years into the future."

"Are you being watched?"

"Of course not, or I wouldn't be talking to you," PJ said. "I waited until the soldiers were all gone before I shut my communicator back on."

"No, I mean, is there a camera in your prison cell?"

PJ looked around, checking the corners of the room. "No, not unless there are hidden ones."

"All right, PJ," Marie declared, "I'll get you out, pronto! Take your earpiece out."

"Um, okay," he replied, doing as she said. Once the earbud rested in the palm of his paw, it transformed into a tiny, spider-like robot, with four spindly legs and a round head sporting a miniature camera for an eyeball. PJ smiled proudly as he lowered the machine to the ground, allowing it to crawl out of his hand onto the floor. Marie had outdone herself this time.

"Just hold tight, PJ." Marie's voice could be faintly heard from the small microphone still attached to the robot. "I'll be back soon." With that, the robot scuttled off across the floor, wiggled its way through the crack beneath the door, and left.

* * *

" _See that cupboard up there?" Kyle pointed with his finger, and Suzy's eyes traced a line to the subject in question. "That's where they keep all the candy," he whispered behind the back of his hand. Suzy nodded._

 _The class's arts and crafts project for the day was making pictures by gluing dry macaroni to a sheet of paper. The pair of them were sitting together, building a portrait of a butterfly._

" _You need me to distract Mrs. Beck long enough to climb up to it?"_

" _Can you do it?" Kyle asked._

 _Suzy looked around the room, making sure nobody was watching. Smirking, she replied, "Child's play!"_

 _With that, Suzy propped a macaroni noodle up between the desk and her forefinger, closed one eye to take aim, and used one finger on her other hand to flick the noodle away. The noodle launched through the air and sailed toward the fishbowl, deflecting off the glass toward where Morgan and Gracie, the two girls Suzy had met earlier, were sitting, ultimately landing in Morgan's hair._

 _The girl seemed to feel that something had hit her, as she absentmindedly felt the spot behind her head, looking away at the fishbowl, in the complete opposite direction of the true culprit._

 _Suzy inhaled deeply before shouting at the top of her lungs: "EWWW! MORGAN HAS A SPIDER IN HER HAIR!"_

 _Chaos ensued as all the girls in the room simultaneously squealed and ran from their seats, the least of which not being Morgan and Gracie. Suzy nudged Kyle with her elbow, and he sneaked out of his seat as the pandemonium reached its fever pitch._

 _Mrs. Beck was trying to chase Morgan, who was still shrieking at the top of her lungs while running blindly through the rows of desks, batting at her head. "Morgan, stop running! I'm trying to get it off of you! Everyone, stop screaming!"_

" _WAAAAAH! GETITOFFGETITOFFGETITOFFGETITOFFGETITOFF!"_

 _Suzy buried her face behind her noodle art to hide as she grinned maniacally._

 _It took a few minutes before Mrs. Beck could catch Morgan, console her, and get the rest of the class to settle down. Kyle slipped back into his seat beside Suzy, and with a wink, communicated that the mission had been successful. He looked so cute, her heart skipped a beat._

" _Shuzy," he said through cheeks stuffed full of candy, "I bewief we aw going to make a fewy goot team."_

 _Suzy beamed. "Yes. Yes, we are."_ It would have been nice if he'd given her a share of the spoils too, though.

 _Meanwhile, Mrs. Beck slumped down on her rolling chair behind her desk at the front of the classroom, resting her head in her hands. "Oi vey, I need to hire an assistant," she languished quietly to herself. "These kids are getting to be too much for me to handle alone."_

* * *

PJ paced back and forth inside his cell nervously. _C'mon, Marie, hurry up._ Any minute now, the perfect distraction was going to literally blow up in the Conspirium's face, making that the perfect time to escape. Causing an explosion in the factory building nearby was how PJ got inside the Command Center the first time, and he knew it was about to go boom soon. If Marie was going to do something to help him, now was the time.

Right on schedule, the predicted explosions rocked the walls of his little cell. He heard the soldiers guarding his cell shouting and running through the hallways on the other side of the door. Tense as he was, PJ couldn't help but smirk at the confusion and damage his past self was doling out to the Conspirium at that moment.

Judging by the noises coming from his door, his guards were all leaving to go see what caused the explosion. PJ pressed his ear against the door. As soon as the sounds stopped, he tried the handle. Locked. PJ punched the door in frustration and resumed pacing the floor.

The minutes ticked past, and PJ began to worry. What if Marie couldn't find a way to release him? Had her robot been discovered or destroyed somehow? And did Isabella's supercomputer really know about everything that had happened thus far? For ten minutes, he waited, worrying, seeing no signs of Marie's bug. His past self had probably already confronted Suzy by now.

There was movement in the corner of his eye. PJ squatted down, relieved to see Marie's robot finally squirming its way back under the crack beneath the door. He put out his hand and let it crawl up, where it transformed back into the earpiece. He immediately inserted it.

"Marie? What'd you do, stop and ask for directions?"

"Sorry I took so long," Marie said. "It took longer than I expected to hack into the building servers."

"Well, I'm glad you got that accomplished, but how is that gonna help me get out of here?"

"It won't."

He started to round on her. "Marie, I―"

"Shut up and find some cover. You've got about three seconds," she said playfully.

"I―what? OH!" PJ looked back at the door, then frantically scrambled across the room to duck in the corner behind the sink.

Nothing happened.

PJ looked timidly back at the door. "Uh, Marie? I think something went wrong…"

"Oh, did I say ' _three'_ seconds? I meant fifteen."

"Why you―!"

 _BANG!_

In a burst of light, the door flew open, almost getting knocked off its hinges. PJ winced at the sharp, smoky smell that filled the air.

"Ahaha haha!" Marie was rolling in laughter. "I wish I could have seen the look on your face!"

PJ waved his hand in the air to clear some of the smoke. "It probably looked the same way it did every other time you blew something up around me!" This girl really had a knack for explosions. He wondered where she got it.

After a pause, Marie prompted, "Aren't you forgetting something?"

PJ made his way for the door. "I'll thank you after we get out of this."

"No, I meant, aren't you going to ask me how I did it?"

"Kinda busy right now, in case you hadn't noticed." It wasn't a lie; he was jogging down the hallway, looking for the elevator he'd been brought down in.

"I found some weed killer in a closet down the hall. The active ingredient in this particular brand of weed killer happens to be sodium chlorate, which is known to react violently with C6H12O6, a compound that usually goes by a more common name. You know it?"

"Nope."

"Glucose, aka sugar! And wouldn't you know it, there was a bounteous supply of sugar in all the snacks located in that vending machine by the bathrooms."

Marie sounded very proud of herself, but PJ had tuned out every word she said the moment things started to turn sciencey. Marie seemed to pick up on his lack of interest.

"Fine, if that doesn't impress you, then maybe this will: in just a few minutes, the decryption program I planted should be finished breaking into all the Conspirium's secure files. Once I find the deactivation codes, I'll have the bomb disarmed faster than you could do a hundred push-ups."

"Uh-huh, that's great, Marie," PJ said, before what she said clicked. "Wait," he added, stopping in his tracks, "did you say you're disarming the bomb? That's great! Good work, Marie!" he repeated, far more sincerely this time.

"Now _that's_ more like it," she said, satisfied. "See, I can be good for more than just blowing things up when I'm given the chance."

"I never should have doubted you," PJ said, finally reaching the elevator. He punched the button. The door chimed as it opened, and he stepped inside. "Now let's make like a tree, and―"

 _SHREEE!_

PJ yanked the bud out of his ear, which had flared up suddenly from some unexpected interference. Perhaps it was coming from the elevator? Once the flare died down, he gingerly placed it back in his ear. "Marie, are you still there?"

" _I'm sorry, the number you have dialed is incorrect. Please hang up and try again."_

PJ's blood froze as he immediately recognized that voice. "Suzy," he breathed, gritting his teeth.

That sickening, twittering laugh he hated so much rang in his ears. "One platypus down, one to go. And I won't be letting you off so easily with a one-way ticket to the future, like your time clone got."

PJ growled. So they had tricked his past self again, it seemed. PJ hadn't changed anything. History was repeating itself. Isabella's supercomputer had been wrong.

"How long were you listening to this channel?" he asked, while stepping out of the elevator, which had just reached the ground floor.

"Long enough to locate the First Daughter's virus and trace it back to her location," Suzy answered. "I guess it was a good thing I didn't kill you earlier, wasn't it? Now, you've given us the location where the President, her Cabinet, and all the other missing Senators are hiding!" PJ covered his mouth in horror. "So, were you still planning on running away?"

This had to be another one of Suzy's tricks! She had to be lying! PJ pressed his palms against his temples, trying to drown out her voice, to think rationally.

He looked at the glass doors of the entrance to the Command Center. Outside, a huge crowd of workers watched while some soldiers fought the fire burning in the nearby LOVEMUFFIN building with big fire hoses. It wouldn't be easy, but if he could somehow get past them all, he still had a working time machine to go back to. He could try again.

"You can't possibly save them," Suzy urged in his ear. "My―that is, The Conspirium's―fighter jets will reduce the President's hideout to rubble long before you get there."

That wasn't true, PJ thought. Suzy was just implanting hypnotic suggestions into her words, and he had to fight it. Stick to the plan. He had to―what was it again?

"PJ… PJ…" Suzy droned in his ear. Her voice echoed in his mind, over and over. "You can't fight it any longer." As if the floor had shattered like glass beneath his feet, he felt his mind spiraling out of his control.

"You can't fight me! You can't find me! You have to join me! Come to me, PJ…"

There was something he had to do… Some mission he was supposed to accomplish... But what was it?

Did this voice know? This voice in his head? Why was it so loud?

He covered his ears, but the voices didn't go away. He couldn't block them out.

He couldn't―

Something was in his ear. Curious, he pulled it out. It was Marie's earpiece.

The voices stopped, leaving a deafening silence.

PJ groaned and massaged his temples. He had a splitting headache. Remembering where he was, he tossed the earpiece aside and looked around. He'd been a fool to leave it in while talking to Suzy. Now, what was he doing here again?

The Command Center looked the same as before. He was close to the glass doors at the entrance, and could still see the same scene outside. He knew he was here to do something, but couldn't remember what.

The vestige of a memory entered the vectors of his mind. " _Come to me, PJ,"_ the voice said. " _Kyle and I are waiting for you in the throne room."_

It clicked, and he remembered what he was supposed to do. His mission was to defeat Suzy Johnson and Kyle Konig. And somehow, he knew they were waiting for him in the throne room. Instinctively, he went to the elevator he'd just ridden, and upon entering, he selected the floor that felt most natural.

He had to be wary. Suzy could use hypnosis. He'd have to be careful not to fall under her spell.

Trancelike, without thinking about where he was going, he walked down a familiar hallway after exiting the elevator. All the way at the end, set in a tall arch that towered over his frame, a pair of wide, gilded doors swung open, and he walked inside.

A man, embroidered in splendid robes and arrayed in sundry, ornate jewelry, sat upon a golden throne. Standing to his right, a beautiful blonde woman turned PJ's way and smiled.

* * *

 _Fredericksburg, Virginia, USA  
_ _Twenty years earlier_

 _Kyle Konig was too scared to think. He was pretty sure he was in the trunk of a car, but with his hands tied behind his back and a wool hood placed over his head, that was all he had to go off._

 _For miles, he felt the vehicle lurching and bouncing, swerving and rumbling. He hoped it would stop soon, before he got sick. Mercifully, it wasn't long before he felt himself slowing and stopping, bringing the ride to an end._

 _As soon as the engine stopped, a door swung open and shut, rattling the car. Moments later the trunk popped open, and he felt strong hands lift him out of the cramped space onto his feet. Too terrified to ask what was going on, he allowed himself to be led into the darkness. His feet left pavement to crunch across soil, stones, and sticks. Now, he could smell the forest. The air was cool, so it must be night. Crickets chirped loudly on all sides._

 _The hands brought him to a stop, and he stood still, waiting, while footsteps crunched all around him. There had to be at least five or six people, moving in a circle around him. Despite the temperature, Kyle was drenched in sweat now. His chest was pounding, and he was starting to hyperventilate._

 _Without warning, the blindfold was removed, and he found himself in a circle of torch-wielding monsters. On closer look, they weren't monsters, just men wearing animal masks. The fierce lines etched into the mask faces were made even more terrifying by the dancing flames._

 _The masked figures chanted softly in a semicircle around Kyle, all facing forward, where the one who had brought him here stood. He thought the chanting he heard was Latin, but didn't know for sure. As soon as the chanting came to a close, the figure in front of him stepped to a large bronze bowl filled with liquid. Dipping his torch into the vat, the clear liquid caught fire and burned brightly, illuminating his surroundings more fully, clear out to the rock walls that surrounded them. Only then did Kyle realize he was actually in a cave._

 _Raising his hands, as if in supplication, the figure chanted like the others, his back turned to Kyle._

 _Instantly, Kyle recognized the voice. "Father! What's going on?" he cried._

 _The figure turned around to look at him. "This night marks your eighteenth birthday. That means it is time for you to learn of your destiny!"_

 _One of the figures produced a sack, and his father reached deep into the burlap pouch. What he pulled out made Kyle nearly lose his dinner: a fistful of ash in one hand, and a rabbit's limp carcass in the other. Casting both into the fire, the flames turned a blood red as the chanting resumed._

 _The animal's blood had dripped onto his father's fingertips. Kyle watched uncomfortably as he then thrust the bloodstained hand into the fire. Kyle thought he was mad, but as he held his hand in the flames, the skin did not burn. He seemed to feel no pain._

 _Withdrawing his hand, his father's fingers now burned with a mystical fire of their own. "By the power of the ancestors," his father chanted once more, "I command thee to open thine eyes and see your destiny!" He then placed his burning fingers on Kyle's eyes._

 _He screamed as the world whisked away beneath his feet. Just as quickly as the pain arrived, it vanished, and opening his eyes, Kyle saw the world from the sky. He could see everything, to the smallest detail. From the snowy heights of the tallest mountains to the wriggling worms burrowing in the lowliest streambed, it was all opened to him._

" _Your ancestor, John Armstrong, Jr., was the aide of General Horatio Gates during the closing months of the Revolutionary War," Kyle heard his father's voice say. As he spoke, the vision took him to his ancestor, letting him watch the events his father was describing unfold._

" _General Gates, who lost his own son to the war, took in your ancestor, loving him like his own son. After the final battle, when the British surrendered at Yorktown, George Washington planned to step down and dismantle the army, leaving the fledgling nation defenseless should the British or any other of America's enemies decide to invade again._

" _General Gates was worried about the dire straits the country was in. At a camp in Newburgh, New York, with the help of your ancestor, Gates rallied the remaining troops together, giving them leadership, promising power and freedom, the likes of which Washington was too afraid to take for himself._

" _Just as the army was ready to back Gates all the way to Philadelphia, George Washington stepped in and stopped them. If it hadn't been for Washington, this country would never have become a republic, a land of democracy, fraught with weakness and corruption!_

" _This is your heritage, Kyle. Your ancestor was loved like a son by the greatest American who ever lived, General Gates. After all those years of dedicated service in the war, General Gates was one final march away from Philadelphia, where he would have taken the reigns of power unto himself, the hands of someone strong and noble. Where it belongs. Not in the hands of the people, who are selfish, simple-minded, and weak._

" _And it was George Washington who stopped him. George Washington blocked General Gates from becoming King, and by extension, it was George Washington who stole our family's inheritance from us! Your ancestor and mine, John Armstrong, as Gates' adopted son, would have succeeded him to the throne._

" _This is your destiny, Kyle! To avenge the wrongs that have been done to our ancestors! To disgrace the one who usurped everything from our family, George Washington! To make things right in this land, a land that should never have become a democracy, a land that needs a King! This is your destiny: to be The King of America!"_

 _The vision ended, and Kyle felt the fire searing his eyes once again. In a fit of pain, Kyle screamed and jolted back to reality._

 _The pain was gone. Kyle looked around, finding himself sitting bolt upright in his bed, drenched in a cold sweat._

It was all a dream, then? _No, he realized, it had been far too realistic to be a dream._

 _All his life, Kyle had felt like something was guiding his path toward some purpose, a destination. Somehow, he'd always felt deep down that he was supposed to be a king, like it was his right, his destiny. Only now, on the night of his eighteenth birthday, did he finally know why._

* * *

"PJ the Platypus," Suzy leered from above. "Welcome to the dawning of a new era! How does it feel to have failed so miserably?"

"The way I see it," PJ growled back, "I finally have the king and queen pieces cornered. It's just you and me here. You're one turn away from checkmate." He cracked his knuckles in anticipation.

"Is that so?" Suzy asked, flipping a curly hair out of her face. "How interesting. You've been to the future. I've been to the future. We both know who's going to win. This cannot be checkmate, because the game is already over. So why, PJ? Why? Why do you continue to persist in this futile effort? Is it revenge that drives you? Loyalty? Pride? Or are you simply too stupid to see what's right in front of you?"

PJ shrugged his shoulders, ignoring the dig. "Maybe it's a bit of all those things you said. However, there's also something you forgot. You see, it's also because I love my country and my family. I will fight to the bitter end to protect them."

"That's―almost admirable," Suzy said, hinting she was slightly impressed. "But also so, so foolish. America, the Great Democratic Experiment, has proven again and again that it produces nothing but corruption, inequality, and division. What is there about it to be proud of? Democracy has spoiled the population like the disease of a dying tree, rotting away on the inside but appearing healthy on the outside. It needed to be chopped down before it the next storm came along and knocked it over."

PJ gave her an incredulous look. "That's what you honestly believe? I'll grant that not everything is sunshine and roses. If you give people freedom, they have the choice to do bad things with it. But that's still better than taking away all freedom from everybody."

"Ho ho ho!" Suzy chuckled to herself. "That is where you are wrong. Take it from somebody who is an expert hypnotist and master of manipulation. Once you know how, it's scary how easy it is to take away someone's ability to choose. Almost like there is no such thing as choice in the first place. We only think we have free will. This is the brain tricking itself into believing it is in control of all the signals it sends to the body, but in reality, it has almost no control at all."

"That's why democracy is a cancer," The King spoke for the first time. "The illusion of free will denies us the acceptance of our true destiny. People cannot choose what destiny has in store for them any more than they can choose what color the sky is. That makes elections a farce. Those who are destined to rule will rule, inconsequential of what choices people believe they are making. No one can avoid their destiny. And your destiny, platypus, is to serve me in the new world I will create!"

"Ha," PJ snickered, "what a joke. I don't believe in fate or destiny. I am in control of my life, and not anyone or anything else!"

"And yet you still haven't managed to change the future," cooed Suzy. "Have you? What more proof do you need? Even Phineas and Ferb said it themselves, there's no way to change the future. If the future can't be changed, how can you say there is choice? If there is no choice, then why do we bother with democracy?"

"There's only one way to see who's right." PJ jutted his thumb into his chest. "I'm making the choice right here, right now, to stop this once and for all." He cracked his knuckles again.

"No, you aren't," Suzy giggled. "You won't stop us. And you want to know why?"

"It's your destiny," The King declared.

"You have no choice," added Suzy. "And here's why. Earlier today, Phineas and Ferb were conducting research on the new timeline the Conspirium created. To be specific, they took a time machine to the future to investigate its long-term changes."

PJ, who had been advancing, stopped in his tracks. Suzy grinned at the sight of all the color draining from his face.

"You know what that means, don't you, PJ?" she stated rather than asked. "I can see it from the fear in your eyes. Yes, when they arrived in the future, our soldiers were there to apprehend them and destroy their time machine. They're trapped in the future, just like you were."

The platypus was shaking visibly before her now, his breathing, erratic. Suzy threw back her head in laughter. "Now you see, don't you? You can attack us. Arrest us. Jail us. Even kill us. If you do, the future will be changed, and they will be gone forever. The timeline they currently exist in will, itself, cease to exist!"

The truth sunk in. PJ fell to his knees, now a hollow shell. Suzy could practically hear his spirit breaking. She could see the emptiness in his eyes. She gloated, twisting her face in pure maniacal pleasure. "All right, now's your chance! We're unarmed, and we all know how capable you are at combat." She opened her arms wide, lifted her chin, and closed her eyes, giving the platypus a wide open attack.

Several seconds passed. PJ remained motionless on the floor.

"I'm waiting…" Suzy opened one eye to peek at her nemesis, gloating all the more. "I thought you had the power to choose?" she mocked, dropping her arms.

PJ mumbled something inaudible towards the floor.

"Not so easy to change the future after all, is it?" Suzy sneered. "Choice is meaningless."

"Destiny has prevailed," The King chimed.

"Democracy is dead," Suzy and The King said in unison.

As much pleasure as it gave Suzy to see her nemesis so disheveled and broken at her feet, she turned aside to face The King, dropping down on one knee in obeisance. "What shall I do with him now, O King?"

"As we discussed previously," The King replied, "we will keep him around. If, in time, you can break his mind, be it by torture, or through hypnotizing him sufficiently to turn him to our side, he will make a powerful asset for the coming Kingdom I will create! If he continues to resist, I will leave it to your discretion as to when and how to kill him."

"Thank you, my King," Suzy said breathily, unable to contain her happiness. However, when she looked up, she saw in the corner of her eye that PJ had moved. The King and Suzy turned and watched, surprised.

Fists balled, PJ rose to his feet. "There's one important flaw in your logic, Suzy," he said, far too calmly for her liking. "You say the future can't be changed, and therefore, there is no free will. Then how do you explain the fact that _you_ were the one who changed the future in the first place?"

Suzy couldn't believe what she was seeing. She'd won! _She'd won!_ And he still had the will―the _gall_ ―to go on resisting her?

"And not only that," PJ continued. "I've made plenty of mistakes along the way getting here. I'm not proud of them, but I learned from them. I had to change the timeline several times to make it this far. So you can't tell me the future can't be changed. I know it can! It's proof that our choices do make a difference; and that fact makes freedom one of life's most precious gifts!

"I once swore an oath to defend this country and everything it stood for, with my very life, when I took this job, and I'm not about to break it now! This is my choice!" With that, PJ charged forward.

Still kneeling beside The King, Suzy was unprepared to defend herself. Indeed, she was unable to register what had happened at all. As PJ's fist was fast approaching her skull, time slowed, and she looked to her side. Kyle, her beloved, had jumped to his feet. Suzy's insides bubbled with gratitude. He was going to save her!

Then instead of jumping in front of her, protecting her from PJ's attack, Kyle ducked behind her, using her as his own personal shield. Suzy gasped in realization, and that was the last image she saw.

* * *

Konig's and Suzy's unconscious bodies lay on the floor of the throne room. It was over. Exhausted, PJ sat on the lowest step of the stairway to rest. "What have I done?" he asked aloud, putting his head in his hands.

* * *

Somewhere in the Appalachian mountains  
September 28, 2049

He had only rested there for a few minutes when PJ heard the chime of the elevator echo down the hallway. Countless footsteps clattered his way, setting him back on edge. He took a fighting stance, as that was all he had time for, before a fully outfitted FBI SWAT team burst into the throne room. None of the officers advanced on him, however, instead dispersing throughout the room to investigate.

"Agent PJ," he heard someone say, and PJ turned to face the SWAT team captain. "The President will be happy to hear you are safe," the large man declared. Meanwhile, some of the agents moved on Suzy and Konig, and upon confirming they were not a threat, they handcuffed the Conspirium leaders and carried them out. "That makes the last of them," the captain said, nodding toward Suzy and Konig.

"The last of who?" PJ asked, confused.

"The last of the Conspirium. We've rounded up everyone we've found in this compound."

PJ blinked. "Uh, what?"

"You did it, Agent PJ!" the captain said. "You saved the future! Let me have the honor of being the first to congratulate you!" With that, the man extended his hand.

Rather than shake, PJ pressed for more information. "And who are you?"

"Oh, forgive me. I am Special Agent Derick Allen, FBI. I'm from the future. By taking out Suzy Johnson and Kyle Konig, you changed the future, and while it took awhile for things to get back on track, once we finally had access to the resources to help you clean things up here, the President sent our full forces back to this moment to provide you with backup."

Seeing the astonished look on PJ's face, the agent motioned to the window with his hand. "Here, see for yourself."

PJ approached the window as invited, where he saw a sea of FBI agents working like ants, covering the grounds that had served as the Conspirium's headquarters. Lines upon lines of Conspirium members were being arrested and escorted up to the massive helicarrier that floated overhead.

Serenely, PJ watched as concourses of people moved to and fro, feeling like he was dreaming. "Is this real?" he found himself asking.

"Yes. You're the one who defeated the Conspirium; we're just helping you with taking out the trash."

"What about the bomb? The Capital―?"

"Is safe," the agent said. "You've done a great service to your country."

"You're wrong," PJ denied, earning a strange look from the captain. PJ turned away from the window and let his shoulders slump. "I still messed up! I may have stopped the Conspirium, but in the process, I ended up sacrificing something just as important. Phineas and Ferb are gone. By changing the future, I erased them from existence. I failed again."

A familiar voice, one PJ knew very well, chose that moment to enter the conversation. "Begging your pardon, PJ; but no you didn't."

PJ jumped in surprise. "Phineas?! Ferb?!"

There they were, looking like they'd just popped in for a visit during their lunch break. Phineas wore his usual grin, while Ferb's blank stare was as intense as ever.

"I... I―" PJ stuttered, before settling on the question he most wanted to ask. "Does that mean Suzy was lying about the two of you getting marooned in the future?"

"Actually, that part wasn't a lie," Phineas said. "Not to boast, but fortunately, Ferb and I are somewhat on the resourceful side. We found a way home, all thanks to you, PJ. You are who saved us."

"I―I was?"

Phineas nodded. "But that's a story we'll have to save for another time."

* * *

Washington, D.C.  
December 25, 2049

PJ awoke to an obnoxious rapping sound. "PJ, PJ!" A teenage girl's voice was calling him. "Wake up!"

He shifted his weight enough to see the time on his nightstand and decided it was still too early to acknowledge the banging on his door. His head hit the pillow with a thud.

That thud was matched by another as the door flew open. "Merry Christmas, PJ!" Marie shouted.

"You're rude!" he retorted, covering his head with a blanket. "Don't you know what time it is?"

"Yeah, time to get your lazy butt outta bed!" She dove onto his mattress, wrenched the pillow out from his grasp, and proceeded to smack the pile of covers he had burrowed under with it, over and over again. "Here! Have! Your! Christ! Mas! Lumps! You! Humbug!" she grunted with each strike.

"What's with all this commotion?" another voice asked from the doorway.

"Thomas!" PJ cried, recognizing the voice. "Get this madwoman off of me!"

"Uuuugh…" Thomas groaned from across the room. He faced away from the obstreperous parties, mainly to hide his blush at the thought of wrestling with Marie.

"I'm warning you, Marie!" PJ raised his voice in what was an attempt at being intimidating. "I've mastered over ten different forms of martial arts, and I'm not afraid to―hey!"

Marie had picked him up by the mass of blankets he was hiding under and was now carrying him. He squirmed around inside his cocoon to get free, but she held the bedsheet shut tight around him, keeping him trapped, like he was caught in a knapsack. "Hey, no fair!" he said. "Let me go!"

"Not until you say, 'Merry Christmas, Marie!'"

"Thomas, make her put me down!"

"Er, I'm just gonna stay out of this one, PJ…"

"Just say, 'Merry Christmas, Marie,' and I'll let you go!"

"Ah! Thomas, do something! Do something, or I'll tell her the real reason you wanted to borrow her toothbrush the other night!"

"Whaah? I―I already told you, that was because mine got hit by my granddad's Booger-Inator! I couldn't use it after that!"

"Your granddad's Booger-Inator my tail! Isn't he, like, a hundred now? He's not still making Inators!"

"Sometimes he does, when he gets his hands on the occasional junked circuit board or inboard motor…"

"Whatever, just grab her already! C'mon, it's a win-win for both of us!"

"Er, I honestly have no idea what you mean by that!"

"Oh my gosh, you two are ridiculous… You might actually be worse than Isabella and Phineas were at your age, and that's saying something…"

"PJ," Marie interjected, curiously, "Tommy, what are you two talking about?"

"..."

With Thomas unable to give an answer, PJ heaved a heavy sigh. Thomas owed him bigtime. "Merry Christmas, Marie. Now for goodness' sake, put me down already!"

Marie seemed to drop the issue, metaphorically. "Merry Christmas!" she repeated with a smile, gently setting the mass of blankets down. PJ crawled his way out, gasping for breath as he reached fresh air. Thomas was glaring daggers at him.

Oblivious to her surroundings, Marie raised her voice once more. "Now hurry up, you slowpokes!" Her objective complete, she was already skipping back out the room. "All those presents aren't gonna open themselves!" she called over her shoulder.

Thomas released a melancholy yawn and shuffled after her, replacing his headphones in his ears in the same motion.

With the damage already done to his ability to go back to sleep, PJ reluctantly followed the teenagers downstairs to the masterfully decorated Christmas tree. There, a virtual sea of presents covered the floor like a wave of water washing over a sandy beach. PJ had never seen so many before; heck, he couldn't even see the carpet anymore.

"Merry Christmas, everyone!" Phineas and Isabella were already waiting downstairs, arm-in-arm, each with a mug of hot cocoa warming their hands. Ferb and Vanessa walked in at that moment to participate in the festivities as well.

Marie cartoonishly dove into the pile of presents like she was jumping from a diving board into a swimming pool. "Wheee! Presents!" she giggled when her head emerged, before proceeding to swim her way through the pile using the backstroke. If PJ hadn't been so used to seeing weird things happen in this house all the time, he would have been sure some laws of physics were being violated.

In a moment of giddiness that usually only befitted Marie, Thomas glinted with a rare smile before diving in to join her. PJ stood and watched the two of them swim around a while longer, then begin to open presents one at a time.

Isabella approached PJ, snapping him out of his trance. "Merry Christmas, PJ," she gently smiled.

"Merry Christmas," he replied.

"Is this your first?"

"Yes. I mean no. I mean, I've lived through Christmases before, but this is my first one with a family. Is it always like this?"

Isabella nodded. "It's a special time of year for a reason."

"It's―magnificent," PJ said in awe. They watched together for a short while. "Sorry to change the subject," he said after a moment, "but I was wondering if your approval rating is back to where it used to be."

"It has been steadily climbing ever since that George Washington letter was proven to be a forgery," she said. "Unfortunately, my approval rating will never reach what it once was, but I'm not worried about that. I'm more concerned about our rebuilding efforts."

"And how are the rebuilding projects going?"

"Really well. We've nearly finished bringing the national power grid back to where it was before the EMP. As you know, Phineas and Ferb helped a lot in making sure every major city across the continental states was back up and running by Thanksgiving. Now, we've restored most suburban and rural parts of the nation as well. With the power back, almost everyone in the country was able to put up their Christmas lights this year."

"That's amazing!" PJ turned to Phineas and Ferb. "How are they doing?"

Isabella's smile faltered ever so slightly. "They've definitely changed. They don't show it during the day, but I know Phineas is still having nightmares about what they went through in that timeline."

PJ nodded understandingly. "Those scars will take a long time to fade away. If you think they ever need to talk about it, you know they can come to me anytime. And same for you."

"Thank you, PJ!" Isabella beamed.

Marie interrupted by throwing a wad of wrapping paper at PJ. "Hey, PJ! Get over here! You've got presents too, ya know!"

"I do?"

"Duh! Hurry up! Open mine first!"

"I've never gotten presents before…" PJ muttered quietly, then he glanced back up at Isabella, fairly certain she'd heard. She simply gave him a reassuring nod and patted his shoulder.

"Go ahead, PJ."

Elated, PJ dove into the pile of presents to join Thomas and Marie. This was easily the happiest day of his life.

THE END

* * *

Epilogue

Suzy Johnson sat in a small circle with the other inmates. "Hi, I'm Suzy," she said perfunctorily, now that it was her turn.

"Hi, Suzy," everyone in the circle sang cheerfully.

Suzy hesitantly continued. "I'm in here because I tried to help the man I loved overthrow the government and become King of America."

Everyone in the circle nodded in response, as if that was a completely normal thing to say in this meeting.

Suzy looked down at her hands, which she kept folded in her lap. "It's painful to admit, but I guess that even though I always loved him, I always knew he never loved me in return. He was just using me to do his dirty work for him. I was his puppet." A wayward tear leaked down her cheek, and she brushed it away promptly. "I'm in here because the person I lied to the most was myself. I should have realized what he was doing to me, where he was leading me, and left him years ago."

"Amen, sistah," one of the other support group members agreed.

"But I've learned a lot from my mistakes. I know what I did was wrong, and I'm here to pay the price for my misdeeds. I've been getting a lot of support from my family, especially from my brother and sister-in-law. They've shown me how lucky I am, and maybe, once I've finished my sentence, I can start over."

"Good for you!" "Go get 'em!" "You go, girl!" The others clapped in applause to show her their support.

It was too easy. Even reduced to this, Suzy still had all these people in the palm of her hand. When she got out, she'd start over, alright. Kyle wasn't going to hold her back any longer. Freed of her strings, she could now introduce true chaos to the world. The corners of her mouth twisted upward.

Everyone thought her smile was just a show of appreciation.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! It feels great to finally be done with this story! I hope you enjoyed it, it took a lot of work.**

 **Also, I want to thank my family for putting up with me for so long in giving me the time to write this. I appreciate your patience!**

 **Finally, I am grateful to all the heroes who served their country so that I could live in a land where I am free.** **God bless America, and God bless all of you!**

 **It's an interesting and welcome coincidence that I finished this on President's Day (for you non-Yanks, it's our holiday celebrating George Washington's birthday, and also generally all our Presidents past and present). I didn't plan it that way, I simply worked hard to get the chapter ready as fast as I could, and this is how it turned out. Apologies to the person whom I told I would post this on an unspecified Friday, but I'm sure you don't mind the change!**

 **And now, my readers, I bid you adieu. I hope to be back to write more fanfiction in the future, but at least for a while, I am planning to take a break. Writing this story has really drained me; I need to just be a consumer for a while, and not a producer, you know? So, let me leave you with the following. As a wise old man who has been Back To The Future many times once said, "Your future is whatever you make of it, so make it a good one!" See ya!**


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